Burgers and Fries
by shatterthoughts
Summary: "Trying to bulk up, Allen?" "Eating for two?" "Hungry, Allen?" at first the comments are irritating, then they start getting to him. Eating Disorder. Snowbarry.
1. Chapter 1

**Because I'm obsessed with torturing Barry - but also because this flashed through my head the minute we saw Barry out to eat with Iris, plates stacked five high on the table in front of him, back in episode two or three. TRIGGER WARNING: eating disorder, not explicitly anorexia (it doesn't technically fit that definition, as it has very little to do with body image), no bulimia (at least in this chapter, but probably not in the future either), insecurity plays a role, as does bullying, but low self esteem is not a major issue either**

He didn't mean for it to happen. Actually, he had never thought it would happen, that it would ever, ever be a problem. But then again, he never thought he'd wake up from a coma with super speed either.

It started with half-hearted jokes and smiling teasing. Iris staring at him with her eyebrows up as he devoured food at restaurants. Joe laughing as he ate three pizzas in five minutes. Caitlin commenting on how twenty Big Belly Burgers was not really the best thing to rejuvenate his calorie intake.

But then other people started noticing.

People would give him weird looks when he ate out. The people at work made snide comments, some friendly, some less, about how he ate enough for five guys his size. He had gotten questions about his weight that ranged from good natured "how the hell do you stay that thin?" to "trying to bulk up, Allen?" "all that food and you're still as skinny as a fifteen year old" "one of these days that's going to catch up to you."

At first it was annoying. Then it was frustrating. And slowly, it started to bother him.

He stopped eating extra amounts around other people. He was careful to eat a normal amount, a normal lunch, normal meal. But he kept catching himself accidently eating more around other people, loosing track of it and ending up with three meals worth scattered around him, and then there it would be again.

"Damn, you eat like an elephant."

"Hungry, Allen?"

"Eating for two?"

So he was more careful. It was better this way anyway, it kept his identity secret better. He just had a fast metabolism, he told them. He had taken up jogging. He was working out more. Anything to get them off his back, to excuse away the unnatural eating patterns. He started paying closer attention. He was careful when he ordered out. He brought back a normal sized lunch, just a sandwich, sometimes two, with an apple or a bag of chips. He kept Cisco's calorie bars on hand because he could pass them off as just a quick snack.

But he kept getting comments. He tried to remember if they had always said similar things to him, or if his sudden increase in food had made them aware, and now they just wouldn't let it go. He didn't think he was eating that much, at least around other people. But he started bringing smaller amounts. One sandwich, just the apple, to lunch. Whatever dish looked the smallest on the menu. Small portions if he was eating at home. The regular burger, not the deluxe.

And somewhere along the line the burger became a salad. Caitlin kept telling him how bad it was for him anyway. The apple at lunch was really unnecessary. He could just eat a sandwich. He didn't really need waffles or pancakes in the morning, he was fine with just cereal or toast. Soda was bad for him anyway. Water was fine. The calorie bars were appearing too often. He didn't really need that many to keep his glucose levels up, and he certainly didn't need to eat them in front of his colleges and friends.

The comments dwindled. Barry started to relax. Then another would spring up, and Barry was recessing his eating patterns again. An apple for lunch, not the sandwich was probably safest. No donuts or muffins from the table in the office. Water replaced orange juice, Gatorade, any other drink. Really, he didn't need breakfast, or just a calorie bar if he had to run. He stopped going to restaurants. Too many choices, meals to large – once it was on his plate he'd eat it and really the portions were so big that no one really finished it. He'd get a coffee, or just a bottle of water, when he visited Iris. Nothing else was necessary.

By the time anyone noticed, Barry was already deep into his habits. He ate a calorie bar before going to star labs, an apple at lunch, and whatever was around for dinner, but never when other people could watch him. Sometimes he skipped dinner altogether. He was usually tired anyway.

He was running on the treadmill, Cisco kicking up the speed, when he started getting dizzy. His feet slowed, but he forced himself to focus and kept going. He was adjusting fine when the speed suddenly slowed to a stop. Barry looked back at the glass wall where Wells, Caitlin, and Cisco were, confused.

"Your vitals dropped," Caitlin said through the mic. She was out in a second, going up to him. Her brow was creased, worried. She looked at him, puzzled. "You're pale," she said.

Barry's head was spinning a little, but it was nothing he couldn't handle.

"I feel fine," he said.

Caitlin dragged him into the medical room, nonetheless.

"You're glucose levels are down again," Caitlin said once she had pinpointed the problem. It hadn't taken her long, being one of the first things she checked.

"What have you eaten today?" Wells asked.

"I had a calorie bar before I came here," Barry said.

"What else?" Wells asked.

Barry shrugged. "I had an apple this morning."

Caitlin frowned at him. "Is that all you've eaten?"

"Well, yeah."

The frown deepened, accompanied by her hands on her hips. "Well no wonder your glucose levels are low – you need to be eating a lot more than that Barry."

Barry shifted. "It hasn't been a problem before," he said.

Caitlin blinked. "You've been doing this regularly?"

Barry shifted. "Yeah."

Caitlin had her fingers wrapped around his wrist in a second, dragging him over to a scale across the room.

It read 163.

"OK, you're eating a calorie bar, _now_," Caitlin said.

Barry stared at the number. He tried to remember the last time he was that thin. It had to be in high school, or at least college.

"It's still – that's not underweight, is it?" he asked, looking at Caitlin.

"Well, based on BMI, no, but for your muscle density? We'd have to do a more comprehensive scan, but I mean, Barry, you weighed 186 when you came out of that coma. And you could have stood to gain a few pounds."

Barry felt sick.

"You need to start eating, Barry," Caitlin said.

"I am," he said, "I thought – I thought I was eating too much."

Caitlin stared at him. "Do you have any idea how many calories you burn each day? Barry, I mean, you basically _can't_ eat too much."

"Dude," Cisco said, "You have like, a free pass. As much junk as you want."

Barry felt his stomach flip and Cisco pressed a calorie bar into his hand. He took a couple bites.

"You eat five of those a day," Caitlin said, "In _addition_ to regular meals. And that's a _minimum_."

"Five?" Barry asked.

"Yes," Caitlin said.

Barry took the bags of calorie bars that Cisco handed him.

"And you can eat – should eat more," Caitlin said, "Especially if you're on the treadmill or running for any long period of time. Your metabolism already runs super fast – and now you need to gain weight – not just maintain."

"So I should eat less once I get back up to normal?" he asked.

"No, well, maybe – we'll see, Barry, honestly I'm pretty sure you could eat twice as much as this and you'd still be fine – your body doesn't store fat the same as everyone else's because of your muscle regeneration."

"Oh," he said.

"Just – you need to gain back that weight," she said, "it's not healthy."

"OK," he said. He took another bite from the calorie bar, then looked at the bags they had given him. Five a day.

His stomach churned.

**If you review I will love you forever :) Snowbarry in chapters to come.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you all so much for the reviews and support! Warning again for eating disorders, but besides that I hope you like it.**

**Note* cherystoneeli****, which story was that? But I know what you mean, most of my other ones can be a bit intense - there is more angst in this chapter though, just so you know in case you don't like that stuff (still not as much as in my other stories though, at least I don't think so). I'm glad you liked it so far though, and thanks for the review! :)**

When Barry got up the next morning he made himself a bowl of cereal. A large bowl of cereal. He packed a sandwich too. He had stopped going out to eat for lunch a long time ago, since everyone would see him coming and going with the food, so he brought his own to work.

The problem was, after a bowl of cereal, Barry really didn't feel like he could eat anymore. His stomach had shrunk, and he didn't get hungry like he used to. After the lightning, he had been hungry just about all the time, so switching from dealing to that to dealing with the hunger from skipping breakfast and lunch, wasn't really all that different. It didn't hurt – not like what he remembered of being starving as a kid, because his metabolism processed it differently – he still got hungry, but rarely accompanied by the intense pangs he used to get when skipping a meal.

So he stuck the calorie bars in his bag, and took off to work. He'd eat them later. He had stepped on the scale again earlier. Yep. 163. He had kind of thought maybe the Star labs one was broken. He wondered how the hell that happened. He hadn't even noticed, had just fastened his belt tighter and if his shirts were a little loose, well, they were probably just stretched or something.

Barry pulled out the calorie bar halfway through the morning. He was in his lab, not out at a crime scene, just handling paper work. He spun the bar in his hands. Five. He had been eating one, maybe two. He bit off a piece, chewed, swallowed. It was dry – a grainy taste that he wondered how Cisco managed to cook up since they were supposed to be super high in calories. He started to wonder just how many calories there really were in those things.

When he looked at the clock and it read one, and he still hadn't eaten lunch, he pulled out the sandwich. He looked at it for a couple minutes before picking up a piece. He took a bite, swallowed, then put it back down. He was feeling uncharacteristically full. His stomach felt inflated. He put the sandwich away. He'd eat it later.

He was halfway out the station at five o'clock when he realized he still had the uneaten sandwich in his bag. And that's about when the thought of five calorie bars came back to him, and he realized he'd only eaten one. Four more in what, four hours? He scrunched his nose. Caitlin had to be exaggerating. Three, he decided, he would eat three. I mean, he had been losing weight, but hey he was basically tripling his calorie intake by just eating three bars, so that should definitely be enough. Maybe even two. Maybe he only needed two. The things tasted gross anyway, and he wasn't fighting any meta humans right now, so what was the problem? He'd be fine.

LIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

"Barry Allen, you lost five more pounds," Caitlin yelled.

Barry looked down at the scale. 158. Alright, that couldn't be right. There had to be some error, some mistake.

"Are you sure it's not broken?" Barry asked.

Cisco made an insulted noise. "None of the equipment in here is _broken_," he said.

"Are you eating the calorie bars?" Caitlin asked.

"Yeah," he said, swallowing. Maybe four bars. Maybe he needed four bars, not three.

"I want you to eat seven now," she said.

His stomach did a flip. "Caitlin," he said, "I can't eat that many."

"Why?" Caitlin asked.

"They're – it'll make me sick."

She gave him a funny look. "They shouldn't. There's nothing in them that should aggravate your stomach, and you burn through it fast enough."

He shook his head. "I can barely get them down now."

Caitlin's brow furrowed again. Wrong answer. Barry was just about to try and take it back when Caitlin's hand shot out, dragging him over to one of the medical beds.

LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Two hours, several body scans, and a lot of pokey needles later, Barry was sitting on the same bed as Caitlin went over and over his results.

"You're perfectly normal," she said, "Well, for you. There's nothing wrong, besides your glucose levels. Your metabolism has started to slow down though – at least relatively from where you were before – it thinks you're starving. Slowing down, conserving energy – you keep this up and you're not going to be able to run as fast. You'll start healing slower too. But you shouldn't be getting sick – there's nothing here that I can find that could account for that."

Barry fiddled with his hands. OK, so maybe the bars really were necessary. Maybe he did need them. But seven?

"Do I really need to eat seven?" he asked.

"Yes," Caitlin said, "At least. Feel free to stop by an all you can eat buffet too."

"Oh, dude, you'd put them out of business," Cisco said, his eyes lighting up.

Barry just felt sick again. The idea of cramming that much food into him made him want to throw up, not to mention he could already see the stares, the whispers. He could just imagine a cartoon image of himself, blown up like a balloon, that other people must think he'll be some day. They'd say he might have a fast metabolism now, but in ten years he'd be sitting in an office with a stomach the size of a bean bag chair, crumbs smeared across his shirt. And it was already starting – his metabolism was already slowing down.

Caitlin sent him home with instructions and a box full of calorie bars.

He was back on the scale three days later. He had passed out while running. Caitlin was having a fit.

"You weigh 152 pounds," she said. She stared at him. "Barry," she said, "You should weigh at least 180. You know when I said you aren't technically underweight? Well you are getting very close to it."

"I'm sorry," he said, "I'm trying to gain it back." He was. He wanted to. Well, mostly he didn't want his speed or his training to be affected, and Caitlin had said it would if he didn't get his weight up. He'd eaten four calorie bars a day. Well, he'd tried to. Sometimes he forgot. Sometimes he just couldn't get alone to eat them, and he didn't want his coworkers to see him constantly munching on what looked like breakfast bars. They'd think he was lazy – always taking a break.

"Well, you need to try harder," Caitlin said. She crossed her arms.

"Barry," Wells said, "How many of the calorie bars are you eating?"

"What Caitlin told me to," he said, looking away. He avoided the urge to look at his shoes.

"There is no way, you are eating the amount I'm telling you to, Barry," Caitlin said. "You lost six pounds in three days. How many are you eating?"

"Five, six," he said.

"Nice try, but even if you are constantly running, you would at least _maintain_ at five."

"I lose track sometimes," he admitted.

"Lose track by how much?" Caitlin pressed.

Barry brought a hand back up against his head. "I don't know, one… maybe two… or three."

"Barry you cannot eat that little," Caitlin burst, "You're going to make yourself sick – you already are making yourself sick."

"I didn't mean to," he said.

"Barry," Wells said, "using your speed, helping people, getting the reverse flash – you need to take care of yourself in order to do any of those things."

"If you come back here and have lost any more weight, you are not doing any training," Caitlin said.

Barry spun on her. "Cait –"

"No training."

"But – Caitlin I have to."

"Yeah, well, you have to eat too, but you've apparently conveniently forgotten that part."

Barry turned to Doctor Wells instead. "Wells –"

"No, I agree with Caitlin on this one. You can't be training if you aren't healthy."

He let out an exasperated, frustrated noise. "Fine," he said, "I'll eat more. How much do I have to have?"

"Eight," she said.

Eight – Eight! The surprise must have shown on his face.

"Don't give me that look," Caitlin said. "You're going to give me a heart attack – 152 pounds, I should put you on a feeding tube." She started to walk away, then turned, pointing. "Don't think I won't."

Cisco gave him a look. "You are in deep shit."

Barry closed his eyes.

LIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Barry stared at the calorie bar.

_Eat it_, he thought. _Eeeaaaattt it. Eat it. EEEEAATT IIIIITTTT._

But his hand didn't move.

"Ughhh!" he yelled, throwing back his head. This was stupid. It was food. He could do it. Eat the food. Eat it.

But he felt sick already and it was only his third one for the day. This was ridiculous. He was a twenty-five year old guy sitting in his lab starring at a glorified protein bar.

He pushed it to the side and resumed filling out paperwork. Yes, he had resorted to actually filling out paperwork instead of eating a damn breakfast bar. His stomach was revolting. He hadn't eaten breakfast, just the bar, then another for lunch, and here he was, almost time to leave work and he was only on the third one. And he couldn't even get that down. Caitlin was going to kill him.

There was a knock and the door opened. Eddie stepped inside. He looked down at the bar, sitting accursedly on top of a few sheets of paper. He pointed with the stack of files he was holding.

"What's up with the new whole grain diet?"

Barry looked at it. It did look like it was made of some sort of oat combination. He had no idea what the hell was really in it. His stomach twisted. Actually, he really didn't want to know.

He just shrugged as Eddie dropped the files on his desk.

"Protein?" Eddie asked. He raised his eyebrows. "You could use it. You're starting to look like a skeleton."

Barry groaned. Great. He'd gone from being a pig to a skeleton. Fucking fantastic.

He just wiped a hand down his face though. "Yeah, something like that," he said.

"Well, you should stick with it – help you gain some weight. You should make sure you're eating other things too though – you can't live on protein bars, I swear every time I see you, you've got one."

"Yeah, I'll keep it in mind," Barry said.

Eddie gave him a strange look. He kept getting those recently. "Seriously, grab a pizza, Allen," he said, a smile turning up on his lips as he walked out.

Barry turned back around. His eyes fell on the bar.

Barry let his head fall and smacked his forehead face down on the desk. He groaned.

LIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Caitlin had a look on her face like she just might strangle him. They were staring at each other. Caitlin kept opening her mouth, closing it, and opening it again. She finally seemed to settle on a sentence.

"Do you have a death wish?"

"Cait-"

"No," she said. She stuck a finger out, pointing. "Go home. Eat food. Come back when you're up to 160 at least."

Barry's stomach dropped. That was over ten pounds now. He couldn't just – he couldn't do that – couldn't wait that long to start training again.

"Caitlin I can't –"

"I don't want to hear it," she said, holding up her hand to stop him. Barry turned around, desperate for some support, but Cisco and Dr. Wells were already leaving, going back to whatever it was they were doing when he showed up. Barry walked quickly after Caitlin, going into the hallway after her.

"Caitlin, there's got to be something else wrong," he said, "Can't you – I don't know, do some more tests or something – there has to be something wrong I just – I can't eat eight bars in one day, I can't even eat it in two days."

Caitlin turned around, fully prepared to give him another lecture about his disregard for his health when she came face to face with two eyes staring back at her, distraught and miserable.

She closed her mouth, her teeth clamping shut. Her mouth moved slowly to a frown. She put her hands on her hips and leaned back.

"What's going on, Barry?"

He looked uncomfortable. "I just – I can't eat that many. I get sick – or – it's just too much to eat in a day."

"It's not too much for you," she said, "you were eating that much for months before you lost weight."

Had he really? It didn't seem like that – didn't seem like he could have ever possibly eaten that much.

"I take out the bar," he said, "and I sit at my desk – but I just – I can't eat it. I'm not just being reckless, or uncaring, or whatever, I physically can't eat it."

Caitlin's hands shifted. "You can eat it," she said, "this isn't physical. You were eating enough before, and you can now to. You're just not."

He gave her a helpless look.

"Barry," Caitlin said, an inkling making its way up to her brain. She swallowed. "You never… had any… eating problems, before, did you? When you were a kid? Before the lightning?"

Barry just stared at her. "Eating problems? No – I didn't have any – what are even eating problems?"

"Are you sure you didn't have any minor, even just really, really minor, say, anorexic, tendencies?"

And then Barry really stared at her. His eyes shot wide and a few seconds later red started to tinge up his neck and cheeks.

"I'm not anorexic, Caitlin."

"I didn't say you were, Barry," she said carefully, calmly.

"I've never starved myself."

"OK," she said, "But did you ever not eat, on purpose?"

Barry pushed a hand through his hair, looking at the ground. "Jesus, Caitlin, no – I didn't – I don't have a – an _eating problem_ like that."

"Did you ever binge eat?"

Barry's head snapped up. "No. And if the next question is if I ever made myself puke it back up then the answer is no to that too."

"Barry," Caitlin said.

"No," he said, shaking his head and taking a step back, looking down and up again. His face was conflicted now – angry, hurt, confused – all flashing across his face in a second. "I don't – I'm not like that Caitlin – I know I'm not fat, I've never been fat – I'm not – not _trying_ to be thin or anything, I'm trying to _gain_ weight. God, I just – I'm not doing this on _purpose_, Caitlin."

"I didn't say that, Barry," Caitlin asked, "I'm just –"

"No," he said. He shook his head. "No, I just – I have to go." He walked quickly around Caitlin. She turned to keep talking, but then he was gone in another whoosh of air.

**Should have the next one up fairly soon - already started writing it. Let me know what you think of this one! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you to everyone who's been reading and leaving comments! You guys are awesome :)**

**Note* JeremyVD - don't worry, they're all about to get a lot more careful**

Barry sat in Jitters with a cup of coffee between his hands the next morning. He was staring at the table, waiting for Iris to go on her break and come sit with him. It was lunchtime. He hadn't brought a sandwich. The bar was in his bag. He hadn't taken it out yet.

Iris slid into the seat across from him with a huff of breath, smiling. "Sorry, I'm late – there was this _huge_ spill in the back and –" she cut off, looking across at Barry, a frown quickly replacing the smile. "What's wrong?"

Barry looked up, both hands on the cup of coffee, clenching a little too tightly.

"What do you know about anorexia, Iris?"

Iris blinked at him, and took in a sharp breath. "Just as much as you, probably. Why are you asking me?"

Barry didn't say anything. He looked down at the coffee.

"Barry?" Iris said. Her tone was harder than usual. He looked back up.

"Caitlin thinks I have a… an… _eating_ problem."

The lines on her forehead creased. "An eating problem?"

He nodded.

"I've seen you eat two pizzas by yourself."

Barry flinched inwardly.

"I lost over thirty poun-"

Iris nearly spit out her drink. "You what?"

"Shh," he said, ducking at the gaze of several nearby people. She had fairly yelled it.

"Sorry, sorry – you did what? You lost thirty – Barry, that is not at all OK."

"I know," he said, "But I – I wasn't _trying_ to Iris."

"Well I don't care if you were trying to, you order yourself a pizza right this minute, Barry Allen. I will not almost lose you to a bolt of lightning to have you waste away in front of me."

"I already got lunch," he said. It was a lie.

She gave him a look. He ducked his head again.

"OK – up – me and you are getting a real lunch, right now, and you are going to tell me more about this, because even if you aren't _trying_ to lose weight, something is up. People do not just lose _30 freakin' pounds, Barry_."

"I can't – I already used up all my break," he said, checking the time.

She gave him a flustered look. "Promise me right this minute that you will grab a sandwich or something on the way back."

"I will eat lunch," he said, looking at her and smiling, "promise."

"Good," she said, getting up too. "And we are talking about this later."

He nodded, starting to go for the door.

"Today later," she added, "Not tomorrow or the next day later. I'll meet up with you at my dad's. Tonight. No canceling."

"OK, Iris," he said.

He walked back to the station by himself, bracing against the cold. Once inside it he was back up to the lab, hands jammed in his pockets. He took a long time getting up there, one step at a time. He took off his jacket carefully, fumbled with some paperwork, grabbed another pen. Finally he sighed and took out the calorie bar.

He put it on the desk.

And starred at it.

And starred at it.

And starred at it.

And it was back to the silent battle. _Eat. Eat it. Eat iiiitttt. Eat it now! Ready, and… go! Pick it up. One hand. You can do it. Eat. Eat the bar. Eat the fucking calorie bar already._

He was sweating. Actually sweating. Getting nervous and jumpy over a stupid freaking calorie bar. It was making him twitchy and uncomfortable. He had barely managed to eat the one for breakfast, didn't eat one at all the rest of the morning, and here he was staring at it again for lunch. He just wanted to hide it back in his bag. He just… he just couldn't do it. He couldn't eat it.

_Why can't I eat it?_

He started to feel distinctly warm, his body heating up and his fingers clenching. His heart was beating too fast and he was breathing a little too fast as well. A breakfast bar was giving him anxiety. He was being ridiculous. He just had to eat it.

Barry picked it up, a quick surge before he could change his mind, the bar going from the table to his hand to the air and to –

He froze.

Stared at it.

Told himself to take a bite –

And stared at it some more.

He threw the thing down with an angry gasp, smashing it on the desk and taking off pacing the small room. What was he doing? What was wrong with him? It was a breakfast bar. A damn breakfast bar. He was being ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous, getting worked up at the prospect of just eating. Caitlin was right, he hadn't had problems before, so why was he having them now? What was wrong with him? How did he get this bad? How did he even manage to lose thirty freaking pounds anyway? Eddie was right, he looked like a skeleton, and he was putting people in danger every day he didn't train – every day he didn't have the calories to burn – every day he kept going _unable to eat a damn calorie bar_. Barry grabbed a new one from his bag, held onto it in a shaking hand, and in another yell of frustration sped off.

LIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Caitlin was looking under a microscope, carefully, carefully adjusting the slightest bit to the slide in order to see right –

"I can't eat it!"

Caitlin squeaked out a yell and jumped, almost knocking the microscope off the table, looking up at a very red-faced, very distraught looking Barry.

He slammed what Caitlin quickly recognized as a calorie bar down on the table and gestured to it with both hands.

"I can't eat it," he repeated, "I don't know why – there has to be something wrong with me – I can't do it – I can't make myself, Caitlin."

Caitlin blinked. "OK," she said. She grabbed two chairs and pulled them over, going around the table. She made Barry sit down in one, and then she sat down in the other. She picked up the bar and held it in her hands – watching as Barry's eyes stayed glued to it, staring with contempt.

"Why don't you want to eat it?" she asked.

"It makes me sick," he said immediately.

"When have you gotten sick after eating them?"

"I – I haven't, really, I guess – it just, it makes me feel sick to just…"

"To look at it?"

"Yeah," he said, his face flushing at the idiocy of it. He was being ridiculous, he told himself yet again.

But Caitlin just nodded. "OK," she said. She broke of a piece of the bar, about the size of a quarter. "Can you take a bite for me, Barry?"

Barry shook his head immediately. His face was getting kind of grey, his eyes still on that bar.

"Can you try, Barry," she said.

Barry looked up at her, cringing.

"Just one bite," she said, "It's really small."

Barry frowned and took it from her. He passed it between both hands. Caitlin waited patiently, letting him finger the edges and procrastinate, trying to get the nerve to just do it. She put her hand on his knee gently. He looked back up at her, miserable. It was like she was asking him to cut off a finger, not eat one bite of a calorie bar.

But he looked back down and finally brought it to his mouth. Once it was there he just clamped his teeth down, not moving.

"Chew, Barry," she said.

Barry chewed like it was painful to do so. When he finally swallowed the last of it down his whole demeanor changed, relaxing again.

Caitlin broke off another piece. "Can you do one more?"

The cringe was back. "Caitlin –"

"Just one more. It's still small."

He shook his head. "I can't, Caitlin."

"Can you tell me why?"

"I don't know."

"Well, what makes you not want to eat it? When you're looking at it, what are you thinking?"

"I don't know," he said, "Like… like I just… I don't want that. I don't want it in me. I don't want to eat it. I don't want to eat anything. I shouldn't eat anything."

Caitlin frowned. "Why do you feel like you shouldn't eat anything?"

He looked right at her. "I don't know."

"You _should_ be eating," Caitlin said.

"I know that," he said, "it just… it just doesn't feel like that."

"Is it the bar?" she asked, "Would a sandwich or a burger be better?"

He shook his head. If anything that sounded worse.

"Can you take _one_ more bite for me, Barry?"

His face was pained.

"Just one?"

He took it from her slowly – repeated the whole grueling process of getting it into his mouth and finally swallowing it down.

"Would it be easier as a drink – like a smoothie? Or a protein shake?"

That sounded every bit as unappealing as the little breakfast bars in front of him. He shook his head.

"Alright, how about one more bite?"

"You said that twice already."

"I know Barry, but you really need the food in you."

"Caitlin –"

"I know," she said, "I'm going to figure out what's going on, Barry, but right now I really need you to eat just a few more bites."

It took him a half hour to finish. Piece by piece, Caitlin got him to eat the bar. He wanted to throw up. He felt sick, squeamishly sick, wrong all over, like he just needed to get the thing out of him. But after the agony of eating one bit at a time there was no way in hell he was going to let his body expel its contents. He ran back to the station, hoping no one noticed his now, near one-hour lunch break.

LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

When Barry had promised to meet Iris later, he really hadn't thought about the idea that it could be over dinner. And now he was sitting at the table in Joe's house, Chinese takeout in front of him and Iris starring back.

"Barry," Iris said.

"I had a big lunch."

"You have taken two bites."

Barry moved rice around on his plate, pushing it with his fork.

"I'm just not hungry."

He looked up. Looked down. She was staring at him, watching him eat, and he felt terribly, horribly uncomfortable. He took another sip of water.

"What's going on, Barry?" Iris asked.

"I don't know," he said.

"Why aren't you eating?"

"I dunno," he said. He kept pushing food around. He couldn't take a bite, didn't want to take a bite. The very idea of it appalled him. "I just – I don't _want_ it."

"You need to eat," she said.

"I know."

"Then take a bite."

"I – I can't, Iris."

She took a deep breath and put a hand over her face, then clasped both of them together in front of her.

"How long has this been going on?"

"I don't know."

"Barry."

"I don't – it just – I didn't even realize really until like a week ago, and I stepped on a scale and –"

"And you'd lost thirty pounds?"

"It was only twenty then."

"You lost ten pounds in a week?"

"Umm… a little more than ten."

"You've lost more than thirty pounds."

"Yeah."

"How much do you weigh?"  
"149."

"Shit, Barry."

Barry looked away.

"Alright," she said, "You need to eat. You know you need to eat. Take another bite." Her voice was uncharacteristically stern and Barry pushed his fork on the plate, got a pitiful bit of rice and stuck it in his mouth. He squashed down the desire to spit it out, to get it out of him. It felt like chalk in his mouth. He forced himself to swallow.

He put the fork down.

"Barry."

"I can't," he said, his hands in his hair, staring downwards, "I can't do it, Iris."

"Barry –" Her voice had gone hard again.

"Don't," he said, "please don't."

She closed her eyes and sighed. What the hell was she going to do with him.

"OK," she said, gentler, "But you have to eat."

He looked up at her. Looked down. Picked up the fork again. He kept pushing food around on his plate, feeling like he was going to throw up and thinking that this was pointless, absolutely pointless because how many calories were in a bite of rice, or chicken, or noodles? Not even enough to make a dent.

He got up. Iris watched as he went to his bag, and pulled out another one of the dreaded calorie bars. He took a deep breath and sat down again.

"If I have to eat," he said, "then I should eat these."

"What are those?" Iris asked.

"Calorie bars," he said, "Caitlin gave them to me. Should help me gain weight faster."

"Alright," she said.

Barry brought the bar to his mouth. He nibbled at the edge, took the tiniest bite. He stopped suddenly.

"I can't do this with you watching me," he said, squirming. Her eyes were straight on him and he couldn't eat with that, couldn't eat with those eyes on him all the time.

"Barry, it's just me," she said.

"I know that." But he kept thinking of her eyes on him, eyebrows raised with the plates stacked up at restaurants, at the laugh when he ate a whole pizza, at the look on her face after he devoured two double cheeseburgers.

Iris sighed again. "Alright. Give me that." She took the bar and the Chinese food from him and brought both over to the couch. She turned on the TV and put in Star Wars. It was one of his favorites. She shut the lights off, and then broke up the bar in her hands, sprinkling it over the rest of the food. She handed it back to him.

"We're going to watch this, and I'm going to pause it in twenty minutes. If there is not a significant amount of food gone by that time then I'm not playing it again until you've eaten more."

"OK," Barry said. She hit play.

At first, all Barry could do was think about the food. He pushed it around with his fork. Nibbled a couple bites. Then he was watching the clock and he was down to five minutes, three, two. He shoved a couple bites into his mouth fast, forcing it down his throat. Oh, God, he felt sick. He kept going. Iris paused the movie.

She looked over at him, looked down. "Barry," she said, "That is not enough."

"I'll eat more," he said, "Just, play the movie again."

She gave him a look.  
"Please," he said, "this is better."

"Alright," she said, "Just – watch the movie, Barry. It's alright. Don't think about it, just eat and watch."

Barry tried, he really did. He managed to get down about half of it by the end of the movie. He practically begged Iris to leave it at that, to let him stop. She gave in eventually. She wanted to stay after that, to wait for Joe to get back and talk about it but Barry promised to tell Joe himself and he managed to convince her to leave before too long. She was just out the door when Caitlin called. She wanted to see him again the next morning.

Barry groaned. What had he gotten himself into?

**As always let me know what you think :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Longer one! So fair warning, this one get's VERY TRIGGERY - not like, absolutely horrible, but worse than previously, so don't read (don't read DOn't reAD don'T REad DON"T READ) if this stuff bothers you (please, please, please, please - be safe, use discretion, if you know it's going to trigger back habits and urges then DON'T READ IT (i'm only putting this here because i've done the same thing in the past and read fics i really shouldn't have even though i knew they'd be bad for me - ITS A TERRIBLE IDEA)) Anyway, please enjoy :)**

Barry sat in the seat across from Caitlin, slumped back in the seat. She stared at him. He looked down. Looked back. All with this pathetic, pouting face that Caitlin didn't know whether to laugh at or cry.

"Eat," she said.

He broke off a piece. Broke that in half. Broke it in half again.

"Barry."

Took the tiniest, smallest bite she thought she had ever seen.

"OK," Caitlin said, standing up, "New plan." She grabbed a computer and a pad of paper and pencil. She looked back at Barry. "Why don't you want to eat?"

"I –"

"Don't say you don't know," Caitlin said. "Think about it. What are you feeling? What happens? What are you thinking?"

"I don't want it. I don't want it in me. I don't like people watching me. I start getting nervous. I'm not hungry. It feels like chalk in my mouth," Barry listed off. He looked down at the calorie bar. "I feel like I eat too much, and like I couldn't possibly eat as much as you want me to. I feel like I don't really need to eat that much, like I shouldn't eat that much."

"OK," Caitlin said, "Well, first off, if you start getting nervous, that's probably making you less hungry. And I'm thinking the feeling in your mouth is probably psychological – but we could work on having you eat different things, with different textures. The fact that you just don't want it is an aversion, right? So we just need to recondition you to it – figure out why this developed in the first place. But if you don't like people watching you –" She broke off and typed something into the computer. "That's a type of social phobia," she said, "it can be related to eating disorders – which I'm assuming you have, considering how much weight you've lost."

"I'm not –"

"Right, anorexic – I didn't say you were. That being said," Caitlin pushed the laptop away and looked at him. "I need to know, Barry, if this has anything to do with your weight. Do you feel self-conscious about it? Even a little? You said you didn't think you should eat that much, does that –"

"No," he said, "I'm not – I was shocked when I saw that I had lost that much weight, Caitlin – I don't want to be this thin. I just…" he frowned. "I don't know. It's not about the weight, or how I look, it's just about the food."

"Maybe you should see a psychologist."

Barry shot her a dark look. "I'm not going back to a shrink. Plus, how am I supposed to explain I have to eat ten times what a normal person does?"

"Alright, well, you have to eat – you don't want to eat. Do you not want to eat because you think people will see you eat? Why don't you like people watching you eat?"

"I don't know," Barry said, but he started shifting uncomfortably. _Eating for two? Trying to bulk up, Allen? I swear every time I see you, you've got one. _He frowned.

"What's going on, Barry," Caitlin asked gently.

"I guess…" Barry shifted in his seat. "I've gotten kind of… it kind of bothers me, when people talk about my eating." Barry frowned. "It shouldn't – I don't know why it does, but I guess – I guess I started trying hiding it after the lightning – you know, because I can't exactly eat everything I need to right in front of everyone, because they'd figure something out, but also I guess because everyone noticed I was eating a lot – and they'd mention it… so I just, you know… stopped eating in front of people."

"Alright," Caitlin said, watching him, "Well that's a start." She looked down at the calorie bar, still sitting there. :Can you try and take a bite, Barry?"

Barry picked it back up. Nibbled at the edge.

"A real bite, Barry."

He took a deep breath and then bit off a piece.

"Do you want me to go away?" Caitlin asked. "Is it easier when you're by yourself."

Barry looked at the bar. "It doesn't bother me as much when it's you. I guess because you know why I have to eat so much." And maybe because she had never said anything, never commented on his weight or how much he ate or anything except to tell him to have more and to make it healthy.

"Alright," she said, "But you don't like anyone else seeing you eat?"

"With Cisco and Joe and Wells it's not bad," he said, "It's Ok with Iris. Everyone else… everyone else I just – I can't."

"OK," she said. She pointed to the bar. "Take another bite."

Barry gave her a miserable look and she stared back, unyielding. He broke off another piece.

"Who is it the worst around?"

Barry paused. "I guess people at work. And restaurants. I can't do restaurants anymore." He looked anxious just talking about it.

"You can eat in your lab at work, right?"

"Yeah." His face twisted. "Sometimes they come in though."

"Do you worry about that?"

"No," he said, "Yes… I don't know, maybe a little – I don't like it."

"Another bite, Barry."

Barry swallowed, tense, but took another bite. Caitlin kept going.

"We're going to get you used to this again," she said, "Figure out how to get through it – but for now, you need to eat, Barry."

"I know," he said, but he looked very uncomfortable. It quickly changed to worry. He had a feeling he was not going to like where Caitlin was going with this.

"So we need to make sure you eat."

Barry's stomach twisted. He looked down. Took a deep breath, bit off another piece.

"That means eight bars a day."

Barry looked up. "I can't do that, Cait." There was a tinge of panic to his voice.

"You have to eat, Barry."

"I know – I know, but I – that's too much, I can't do that."

Caitlin took in a deep breath. "We can try five, to start off with."

Relief washed over his face, but it was replaced with a dawning realization. He looked down and swallowed. That was still a lot – that was still way more than he wanted it to be.

"I want you here after work today though," she said, "I'm going to put you on an IV to get some nutrients into you."

Barry clenched his teeth, squeezed his hands to fists. The thought of that made him feel sick. That stuff, pumping into his bloodstream. And all he could think was _I don't want that in me, I don't want that stuff in me._

"Barry?"

"I – do I have to?"

"Yes."

"I don't… I don't want to do that."

"You need nutrients. If you won't eat it, then this is what I have to do," Caitlin said.

"But I – I'll eat the five bars," Barry said.

"Yes, you will, but you're not eating eight – and that's where you should be. We'll see how you're doing and where you're at for weight in a couple days and see if you need the IV again."

"Cait."

"What's wrong with an IV, Barry?"

Barry fumbled with his hands. "I dunno… I don't – I don't want that stuff in me."

"Alright," Caitlin said, frowning. "You need that stuff, Barry. You can't run if you don't get it."

Barry pushed his face into his hands, fingers going through his hair. He felt sick.

Caitlin leaned across the table, touching one of his arms. "It's going to be OK, Barry," Caitlin said softly.

"Yeah," he said. His voice was hollow.

"I want you to come here before and after work."

Barry looked up. "So you can make sure I eat?"

"So I can help you get through eating," she said, "and so I can make sure you eat."

"What about lunch?"

"You need to eat five bars," she said, "You can come here if you want – if that will help – but I'll leave that up to you. If you don't eat it, I'm going to know, Barry. There will be more IV's. I'll do a feeding tube if I have to."

Barry's face twisted like he was in pain.

"I know," she said, "it doesn't sound pleasant. You don't want to do this. You're going to get better though, Barry. It will get easier."

He sighed and took the last bite of the calorie bar.

LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Barry watched as Caitlin got the IV ready. She had so many bags of glucose filled water for him. It made him feel sick looking at it. There were so many.

"Alright, Barry," Caitlin said, gesturing for him to come over. Barry walked slowly. "Did you eat another breakfast bar?" she asked.

Barry grimaced, but nodded.

"How many is that today?"

"Uh… just the two."

Caitlin frowned.

"I know," he said, "I know, I need more – I just – it's all new, and I – I just –"

"Alright," she said, "It's OK for today. I want three down by the time you get here tomorrow though.

"OK," he said uncomfortably. He wasn't going to think about that now.

She motioned again to the bed next to her and Barry went and sat down. He let her put the IV in, the sting of the needle, and the fluids going into his blood stream. He had never hated the feeling so much.

"How many of those are you going to give me?" he asked, nodding at the bags.

She looked over. "A lot."

His stomach sank.

After the fifth bag he was getting antsy, irritated, and he didn't want to do this anymore. Caitlin watched as he became more and more agitated, not saying anything but trying to be gentle and careful around him. She didn't like where this was going.

"How long is this going to take?" he asked.

"Probably an hour," she said.

Barry's face screwed up, his expression getting darker, but he didn't say anything. He started picking at the needle site.

"Barry," Caitlin said, "don't touch that."

Barry stopped, and then started fidgeting again. He bounced his leg and tapped his fingers and clenched and unclenched his teeth. Caitlin changed the bag again. He burned through them fast.

"Do you want a laptop or something, Barry?" Caitlin asked. Barry shook his head. He pulled out his phone though, played around on that for a little while, but eventually shoved it back into his pocket, his fingers practically shaking.

After a few quiet minutes he spoke again suddenly.

"Caitlin." His voice was tight.

"Yeah?" she said, looking up.

He was biting the inside of his mouth, gripping the edge of the bed so hard his arms were shaking.

"I don't like this."

Caitlin walked back over to him, put her hand on his leg. "It's just nutrients. Your body needs them."

"I know," he said. His mouth folded to a frown.

Caitlin kept her hand over his knee. When she went to change the bag he shuddered, stared at it, hated it, needed to get out of there. He didn't want that stuff in him, didn't want any of it in him. He felt absolutely bloated, like his veins were thick with the stuff, going to explode. Logically, he knew that wasn't the case, but it felt so real he was almost starting to believe it.

"Halfway done," she said. Barry almost blanched. Only half way, only half of the way done? He had to go through that all over again? Not even close to finish, had to double it, had to do that all over again except now he felt stuffed full of it, already bursting. He was going to throw up.

"Oh, God, Caitlin," Barry said. "That's… that's…"

"I know," she said, she was back next to him, rubbing over his knee, talking gently. "It's really uncomfortable for you. I know it's hard, you're doing great."

"It – it feels like –" he stopped. Like he would burst with it, like she was pushing stuffing into him, inflating him like a balloon. He didn't want to be a balloon, to be that guy they told him he would be if he kept eating like he did.

"Whatever it is," Caitlin said slowly, "It's not. You've starved your body, Barry – it's just getting the food it needs now. In fact, you might just start to feel better once this is over."

How much would be inside him when she was done? How many calories was that? How many bars, how much food? How much food was she pushing into him right now?

"I'm gonna throw up, Caitlin," he said, and his face was going grey with it, but Caitlin just started rubbing his back instead.

"No you're not," she said, "you're fine."

"I don't want to do this," he said.

"No, but you want to be healthy, you want to run."

"I hate this."

"You'll get through it."

"I feel awful."

"It's your head tricking your body."

"Well my head's telling me I feel like shit."

Caitlin smiled. "Well tell your head I said to shut up."

Barry snorted and went quiet again. He kept on fidgeting, giving Caitlin a miserable look when she left him to get another bag of the stuff.

He kept his eyes trained on the floor, didn't want to watch, but he could clock the number of bags changed anyway, when Caitlin left him to get another. He couldn't stop fidgeting and his eyes were burning and he hated this. He hated, hated, hated this. And Caitlin stayed with him and she was trying to help but it was beyond what a hand on his shoulder could do. He stopped thinking about it, tried to block it out, block out the questions asking how much, how much was she putting into him, and the feeling that his veins were going to pop and that his skin was tightening, stretching as she filled him up. It didn't work very well.

"Oh," Caitlin said suddenly, "I forgot – I have something that might cheer you up – you won't have to just eat the calorie bars anymore."

Barry frowned at her, confused, and she ran off and grabbed a bag of something behind her desk.

"I had Cisco help take the calorie bar and make a similar formula, but in a powder. You can put it over anything you want to eat. I'm working on a protein shake mix too, and Cisco said he thinks he can make a spread for it to – for like toast and sandwiches and stuff."

"Scientists _and_ cooks," Barry said, taking the bag from her. He didn't really know what to think of it. He was conflicted. Yeah, this would probably make it easier to eat, and it would be nice to be able to have something besides the calorie bars, but right now the thought of eating anything was making him feel sick.

"You're almost done," Caitlin said.

"Great."

"You wanna try and eat a calorie bar while you're waiting?"

Barry's heart sank.

"No."

"You have to eat another one before you leave."

"But you're pumping me full of calories – can't that just be my dinner today?"

"It doesn't work like that," Caitlin said, "This is to get you back on track – a kick start – it's not replacing what you have to eat today." Caitlin took the bag back from him, pulled out a calorie bar, and handed it to him.

Barry looked at it, turned it over in his hands. "I really have to?"

"Yes."

"What if I eat it later?"

"You should eat two before you leave."

"Caitlin!"

"You only ate two this morning," she said, "You need five. That means you eat two here, and you can do one later tonight."

"This is too much," he said, pushing the bar away, trying to give it back. Caitlin grabbed his hands instead, stopped him.

"No, it's not," she said, "take a bite."

Barry clenched his teeth and broke off a piece of the bar. He stuck it in his mouth, chewed, swallowed. It went down like sandpaper.

"Another one."

"No, Caitlin –"

"Another bite, Barry."

Barry scowled at her. He took another bite. "I hate you," he said around the food.

Caitlin just smiled at him. "No you don't."

"You're telling me that a lot, lately."

"Eat the bar, Allen."

"I hate these bars."

"I'll give you that one."

Barry took another bite. It made his skin crawl.

"I really have to eat two of these now?" he asked.

"Yes."

"What if I don't?"

"You're not leaving until you do."

"I could run."

"Then I'm hooking you up to an IV tomorrow too."

Barry scowled at her again.

"What if I puke?"

"You aren't going to puke."

"I think I am."

"You aren't. That's psychological, not physical."

"Feels physical."

Caitlin handed him the second calorie bar. Barry made another face.

"Eat," she said.

Barry chewed a bite, another one. "Can I just eat half," he asked.

"No."

"Please."

"No."

"Half is more bearable."

"_No_."

Barry stared at it. The idea of putting one more gram of that stuff into his mouth was repulsing.

"I'll eat it at home," he said.

"You'll eat a separate bar at home," she said, "you'll eat this one now."

Barry kept fiddling with it. Caitlin waited.

"It doesn't help when you start staring at me," Barry mumbled.

"I have this strange feeling that the minute I stop looking you're going to magically make the bar disappear," Caitlin said.

Barry picked crumbs off it, let them fall to the floor. Alright, maybe he had been considering it. Could he move so fast she couldn't see? Tell her he just ate it?

"I feel like your pumping me full of lard and want me to eat the equivalent of thirty hamburgers while you're doing it."

"I am pumping you full of nutrients," Caitlin said. "Energy for your body."

"Energy that will be stored as fat," Barry muttered.

"Hey," Caitlin said, and suddenly she was frowning, looking at him, "you're not fat. You know that, right? You need to gain weight for muscle and energy – and yes, some fat to store that energy – you can't live with none."

"Yeah, I know," he mumbled.

"Don't talk like that," she said, "this is so you can be healthy. Nothing else."

"I know, Caitlin."

"Then take another bite."

Barry hung his head. "Would you believe me if I told you I really can't do this right now?"

"I would believe that you feel like you can't," she said, "and I would say you can wait until we're done with this first."

Barry sighed. He put down the bar. "Thanks Caitlin."

LLLLLLLLIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNEEEEEEEE

Barry got home, exhausted, ready to crash on the couch and just watch some TV. Or maybe skip right to bed. He checked the clock – only six. He had been more tired lately anyway. Right, weight loss. No energy – tired. Caitlin would be proud.

Well that whole plan went out the window as soon as he walked it. Iris was standing in the kitchen, moving a bowl of pasta onto the dinner table.

"Hey," she said from the kitchen, "I made pasta."

"Cool, but I'm really tired so I think I'm just going to head upstairs –" Barry said.

"No," Iris said, "you are going to come sit here and eat dinner."

Barry leaned his head back and groaned. He was getting a headache. "Can we not do this today, Iris?" he said, "I had a really rough day and I just want to go to bed."

"Go to bed after you eat," she said, "come tell me why your day was bad." She patted the back of one of the chairs.

Barry groaned again and walked over, slumped down in one of the chairs. He took a tiny, miniscule portion, and then set to mutilating it with his fork.

"You're going to have to actually take a bite at some point," Iris said.

Barry put down the fork and looked up. "Look, I really appreciate that you're trying to help, Iris, and I'm really sorry you went and made a whole meal, but I just can't do this right now." He started to get up, was going to go upstairs to his room, but Iris was out of her seat in a minute, a hand grabbing his arm and stopping him.

"Hey, hey, I'm sorry, OK? I'm sorry for pushing, come back, let's talk."

Barry stopped and turned. "I can't eat that right now, Iris."

"Alright," she said, "let's sit down."

She dragged him back down to the couch and Barry sat reluctantly.

"What happened today?" she asked.

Barry squirmed. "Caitlin hooked me to an IV and after pumping me full of sugar she made me eat two bars. I feel like an overstuffed pillow. I don't want to eat anything ever again."

"It's just to help you," Iris said.

Barry groaned again. "I know, I know – I have to do it, it's to help, it's for my health – but I can't – I can't eat this much it's like they want me to just – ugh, it's just too much, I feel like an absolute pig, I just keep eating and eating and eating –"

"Barry," Iris said, "you really don't eat that much."

Barry wiped his hands over his face. "That's because I've been eating less – now they want me to like – quadruple it and – and that's just – it's disgusting and overwhelming and everyone's telling me I have to eat all the time and I don't want to – I hate it, Iris, I hate having to eat."

"I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't know it was that hard."

Barry shuddered. "It's just overwhelming. It's like I have to constantly think about food now, and then that just stresses me out more, and then I don't want to eat, and then that makes me all jittery and stressed and exhausted because I have you and Caitlin and Wells hounding me on it."

"Alright," Iris said. She was rubbing his back now. "Why don't we try something small then. Think you could do that, Barry? I'll make you a plate, and we'll just watch some TV. I promise, I won't give you a lot."

Barry sighed. "OK."

"Do you have any of that stuff? The calorie bars?"

"Yeah," Barry mumbled.

"In your bag?"

Barry nodded. Iris went over and picked it up, searched through until she found a bag. She pulled out one of the packets of power. "Is this the same stuff?" Barry nodded again.

Five minutes later Iris was passing him a plate. Barry looked down. There was more pasta then he wanted to eat, and it was obviously mixed with the powder. There were some green bean and apple slices too. She handed him a glass of water.

She put on the TV and Barry picked at the green beans, ate a couple apple slices. He tried not to think about it, to just watch the television and ignore the cardboard in his mouth, the chalk dust in his throat. He only picked at the pasta.

A half hour later and he'd barely touched the pasta and there was still apple and green beans, really he had only taken a few good bites, all spread out in numerous nibbles. Iris looked over during a commercial.

"You need to have some of the pasta," she said, "I promise – no hounding – just eat as much as you can – but you have to have some."

Barry took a bite. He couldn't taste the powder in it, but then again he didn't really taste anything these days. He took a couple bites and then left it. He tried not to think about the powder mixed in, the endless calories soaking into his cells.

Finally it felt like if he ate one more bite he'd just explode. His leg was tapping and he couldn't sit still, couldn't pay attention and he really did feel like he was going to puke, and maybe it was all psychological, but that didn't stop the reality that he was almost gagging just thinking about shoving any more of that food into his body.

"Alright," Barry said, and he quickly gave the plate to Iris, before he threw it or something, "I can't eat anymore. That's it. I can't do more. Really, this time, I mean it. I can't – that's all – I can't do more."

"OK," Iris said, and Barry felt a swarm of relief at the word.

Just then the door opened and as Iris got up to put their plates away Joe walked in. He quickly made it to the kitchen.

"Ooh, pasta – what kind is this?"

Iris told him and he set some in the microwave to reheat. Barry shrunk a little bit in the couch. Iris came back and sat next to him.

"You didn't tell him, did you?"  
"Nope."

"You gonna tell him?"

Barry didn't reply.

"Or am I gonna tell him?"

Barry sunk a little lower.

**So, let me know what you think :) (I love reviews and suggestions and comments they totally make my day :) )**


	5. Chapter 5

**OK, really long one this time! WARNING - this get's more triggery than previous ones. Read with caution.**

Barry walked down the stairs –

and promptly turned right back around – right back, wasn't even there, was definitely not –

"Barry!"

Barry cringed. He went back down the stairs slowly. Joe was waiting at the table in the kitchen.

"Waffles," he said simply.

"Joe, I'm really –"

"You are really going to love these waffles."

"I already see Caitlin in the morning, Joe," he tried.

"Yep. And I talked to her. Called and told her you'd eat here today."

Barry slumped down into a seat. Joe had already made him a plate – three waffles high and slathered in the new spread Caitlin had gotten him. There was syrup already all over his plate, and on top of it Joe had even put blueberries.

Barry picked at it, cut it up into tiny, tiny pieces, and then moved it around on his plate. Joe gave him a look.

Barry took a couple bites. He alternated from eating the ones with the absolute most of the spread on it, so that he could hopefully eat less and still gain the calories, and from being absolutely disgusted by the pure fattiness of the spread and eating the pieces with the least amount on them. He went back and forth in his head, picking at the waffles.

Joe talked while they ate. He finished a lot faster than Barry, but he stayed there, picked at some extra blueberries, kept the conversation going even when Barry was mostly silent.

Barry looked up at the clock. "I should really go," he said, and started to get up.

"Barry."

He sat back down.

"You're going to be late," he said a few minutes late, still picking at the waffles.

"If I have to sit here an hour I will."

Oh, that was not good. Barry stabbed at the food. "It's cold now," he said.

"I'm sure it still tastes fine."

"Did you have to give me three?"

"I should have given you four."

Barry finished it. He felt disgusting but he did. He flashed away before Joe could try and jam anything else down his throat.

Lunch was painful. It always was. He picked at a sandwich he had brought, nibbled on a calorie bar. He felt permanently sick now, always thinking about how much he didn't want the next meal.

By the time he met up with Caitlin after work he was exhausted. She made him eat another bar, and then she wanted to check how he was doing. It had been a few days, and she had him stand on the scale.

"You're not gaining weight," Caitlin said.

Barry turned around, looked at it. He was the same exact weight as he had been before.

"You're not losing any, so that's progress," she said, "but you need to gain more."

Barry felt like he was going to cry.

"I need you to be honest with me," Caitlin said, turning towards him, "Are you eating everything you're supposed to be? Are you eating five servings worth of the calorie packets we gave you? The bars or the powder or whatever? You need to tell me if you're not."

"I am," Barry said. His expression was strained. He was, he really was. He hated it and it was awful and he wanted to stop but _he was eating it_.

"Alright," she said, "we need to up your calories."

His expression immediately warped, changed.

"I know," she said, "But you are at a very unhealthy weight, and you can't run, and you can't fight like this."

"Caitlin, I can't," he said.

"I want you to go to seven," she said. "Eat two packets worth at breakfast and dinner. Eat three during the day, including lunch."

Barry just frowned. He knew he wasn't getting out of this.

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He stabbed at the salad angrily. Iris thought maybe if he tried a lighter food it would help. Of course it wasn't really all that light when there was a broken up calorie bar mixed in and the powder in the dressing.

"In your mouth, Barry."

Barry shoved a forkful in angrily. He chewed. Dust. It tasted like dust.

"Another, Barry."

Another forkful. He wanted to spit it out.

"I hate this." He stabbed at the salad again.

"I know," she said, flipping through channels with the remote.

"I hate it a lot."

"You've mentioned."

"I _loathe_ it."

"Another bite."

Barry crunched down on the salad. He was so frustrated, and somehow it was easier to be angry then to be upset, and he was sick of the dread pooling in his stomach, sick of the overwhelming thought of the pure amount of food he was now supposed to eat. So he was angry.

On the bright side, he was gaining weight, one painful pound after another. In three days he'd gained four pounds. Caitlin called it promising. Barry just wished he'd get back to normal already so he could stop eating like this.

"You want some ice cream after?" she asked.

"No."

"I've got peanut butter chocolate." Barry's stomach shifted, his mouth tightening, because that was his favorite, and he wanted it. As soon as she said it his initial reaction was to say yes, definitely, and how much did she get because he could eat ten gallons of the stuff – but almost instantly afterwards was this wash of guilt that he was just not ready for. Guilt and repulsion and disgust, disgust at himself for thinking of it, for eating that much of something that was pure sugar and fat, not in the least bit healthy or energizing. And he still wanted it, but he didn't want it too because that was way too much but it was his favorite and it would make him feel sick but it tasted so good and he wanted to be able to want it, to be able to sit there with a spoon and the tub of ice-cream but he couldn't because the idea of it made him want to throw up.

"Barry?"

"No."

"You want it, don't you."

"No."

"I'll get you a bowl when you finish the salad."

"I don't want any."

"It's your favorite."

"I know."

"I could put some of the power in it, make it worth it too."

"I don't want any." His throat was tightening. His stomach gnawed and for the first time in a long time he acknowledges the hunger, acknowledged the fact that he was in fact, hungry. His stomach hurt. He needed to eat.

And there was a part of him that wanted to.

And that scared him. It scared him and suddenly Barry was up and he put the salad aside and he walked away, into the bathroom. He sat down on the lidded toilet seat and stared at the wall because Iris wouldn't let him leave without finishing the food but there was no way he could eat right now. He wanted to eat and he couldn't want to eat because if he wanted to eat then he would overeat again and wind up in the same position as he was before. He couldn't let himself want it, couldn't let himself indulge, couldn't let food be anything except something he did because he had to, because it enabled him to fight and run and help people. That's what food was. That was all that food was. Calories to burn. It couldn't be anything more.

_What am I doing_, Barry thought, running his hands through his hair, starting to tremble, feeling sicker and sicker. _What am I even thinking?_

And he felt _guilty_. Guilty, guilty, guilty. You can't want to eat. What are you doing? Fat, stupid, guilty. Idiot. Ice cream. Stupid, so stupid. How could he be this stupid? How could he even entertain the thought? It was dessert, it was frozen fat, it was excess. He didn't need it. It wouldn't do anything for him. Stupid. And he had wanted gallons of it, gallons. Useless, worthless, idiot. Guilty. Gallons so you can do what? Watch everyone watch you eat it, they'd know, wouldn't they? They'd see it even if you didn't – they'd see how fat you'd get, how stupid, how much of a disgusting pig – God, gallons – what were you thinking?

"Barry?" There was a knock at the door.

"I'll be out in a second."

"Are you alright?"

Barry turned the water on cold, splashed some on his face. "I'm in the _bathroom_, Iris."

"You kind of bolted."

"I'm not going to make myself puke if that's what you're worried about," Barry said. He splashed more water on his face. God, he needed to get a grip. He had to eat. He couldn't think about ice-cream and people watching him and getting fat and oh God. Barry put his elbows on the sink counter, put his head in his hands.

_I have to eat. I'm not fat. I'm too skinny. I don't weigh enough. Who cares what they think._ He ignored the stubborn little voice going _I care._

"That's not what I meant, Barry," Iris said, her tone exasperated. He could practically see her standing with her hands on her hips outside the door.

"Sounded like it," Barry said under his breath. He wiped a towel over his face and opened the door. Iris stared at him like she was accusing him of something.

"What?" he said.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"It's not nothing."

"Yes it is."

"Barry Allen I have lived with you and your "nothings" for fifteen yea-"

"Fourteen years."

"_Point being, _she said, "'nothing' usually ends up being 'something' which usually ends in a panic attack or days of moping before this 'nothing' magically emerges and you finally tell me what's wrong."

"You're exaggerating."

She glared at him.

"I just don't want to eat," he mumbled, going back to the couch. He picked up the salad again, stabbed at it.

Iris sat down next to him, "You wanna go for a movie instead?" she asked, "Star Wars?"

"Yeah, OK," Barry said, the fact that she was trying to appease him with his favorite movies now was not lost on him. She started rummaging around for the disc.

"Bite," she said, pausing to look at him. Barry forced a forkful into his mouth. He took another one. _Guilty, guilty, guilty. _

"Can I stop now?" Barry asked. Iris turned around and he felt like a little kid asking if he could leave the dinner table. Only about half the salad was gone, but he had pushed it all around, hoping it made it look like he had eaten more.

"No," she said.

"Iriiiiss." It turned into a whine and Barry grimaced because oh yeah, he _really_ sounded like a child now.

"Eat," she said, "you can do it. Finish this one."

"Ah, come on, Iris," Barry said, "I have the calorie packets, can't I just stop."

"No."

"I ate a sandwich _and_ a muffin for lunch today."

"That's really good, Barry. Now eat the salad."

"And cereal for breakfast."

"Does not cancel out dinner."

"A _lot_ of cereal. With a banana!"

"Salad."

Barry took an angry bite. He bit into a cucumber. At least that tasted OK. He had always liked cucumbers.

"I had a protein bar too," he said, "that's gotta be enough."

"I'm proud of you," she said, "now finish the salad."

"Oh, come on, Iris, you're supposed to be on my side."

"I am. That's why I'm making you eat."

"But I've had a lot today."

"How much do you weigh Barry?"

Barry clenched his teeth shut. He didn't have a good response for that.

"Yeah," Iris said.

"I hate eating."

"Ahuh."

He took a couple more bites. _Stupid, stupid, stupid. _

LLLLLLLLIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

He had been busy, got caught up in case work, and he realized he had skipped one of the bars, that it was already time for lunch. He had looked over at his bag.

What was one day? He had ignored it. He skipped lunch too, and then went and ate at Star Labs with Caitlin, but Joe wasn't home and Iris was out so he didn't eat anything after that either. It was just once, just one break, just one day to get those words out of his head, to make his stomach stop turning.

And then he did the same thing the next day.

After that he couldn't stop. He couldn't bring himself to eat it, not when it was so easy to ignore, not when it lifted the dread off his shoulders for a little while, knowing he wouldn't have to worry about it while at work, knowing he would get that little break. It made things bearable, made everything so much easier when he knew he'd at least get that reprieve during the day, that he still had control over that. No one had to know, it was just lunch. It was only lunch.

And OK, so maybe a week passed and maybe he was avoiding the mirror because every time he got out of the shower and looked down his ribs were poking out, but you know, not more than usual, right? Not really more than they had been. And so what if he was a little dizzy. It was no big deal, right? And maybe he was a little bit terrified to get back on a scale, but it was OK, it couldn't really be that bad. He was doing fine. He still ate breakfast and dinner every day, sometimes two dinners because Caitlin made him eat and then Iris or Joe when he got home sometimes, so it was really OK, it was really fine.

And, you know, this way he didn't have to eat in front of anyone at the station, and that had to help right – get him used to eating with family and stuff first and then eventually it would be easier to eat at work and everything would be fine – he'd start eating lunch again and they'd never even know. Yeah, it was fine. Totally fine.

LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

"This," Caitlin said, holding up a long thin plastic tube, "Is an intravenous feeding catheter. You insert it under the collarbone. It will be painful. You will leave it in all day, for multiple days. You will come here at night and I will hook you up to nutrients from eight o'clock at night to seven in the morning. Do you want me to put this in, Barry?"

Barry stared at his shoes. "No."

Alright, not totally fine.

"Then you need to eat," she said.

"I know."

"How many bars?"

"Seven."

"How many are you eating?"  
Barry didn't answer

"_Barry_."

"Five… four sometimes."

Caitlin sighed, frustrated. She put down the tube. She closed her eyes, calmed down.

"If you need help, Barry, you need to ask for it," she said, trying to make her tone gentler. He was still staring at the floor.

"I _really_ don't want that thing in my neck, Caitli-"

"No," Caitlin said, putting her hand on her forehead, "I meant if you need help making sure you're eating. Do you need to come here for lunch?"

Barry shifted. "I'll eat at work."

"Will you?"

"Yes."

"You want me to call?"

"No, I'll… I'll figure it out. I was doing it before."

"It's OK if you need help, Barry."

He just frowned though. "No, I can do it… I just… I'll pack more. I'll set an alarm or something."

"You need to talk about this," she said.

Barry shook his head. "I just need to get used to it again. I just – I just need to eat. Get over it. Suck it up."

Caitlin sighed. "You should see a counselor – a therapist or psychologist, whatever. Don't you have one at the station? I can find you one if you don't want to go there."

Barry scowled. "I don't want to see anyone."

"I know you can't tell them about the speed running and the millions of calories, but the underlying issues you can talk about. Just tell them you were in a coma and came out of it with a messed up metabolism – you have to eat more," she pressed.

"I'm not going," he said, "I'll talk to you and Joe and I'll – I'll get used to it eventually, if I just keep eating."

Caitlin frowned. "You should think about it," she said, "actually think and not just avoid it because you've had bad experiences in the past. The man in yellow was real, and they tried to tell you he wasn't, but this is an actual problem with actual causes and effects, meaning you could actually gain some help from talking to someone."

"I don't want to," he said.

"You are running out of options, Barry Allen," Caitlin said.

Barry was quiet. "A week," he said, "if I'm not improving in a week then you can go and make me an appointment."

"Alright," Caitlin said, somewhat surprised he had even agreed to that.

Barry left then, back to his apartment. He had just eaten with Caitlin, but Joe was going to be home tonight, so he would probably have to have another dinner with him. His stomach churned.

146 pounds.

He kicked the couch on his way in. 146. He couldn't be 146, he hadn't weighed 146 since high school, he was sure of it, and probably younger in high school too. He had been making progress, had been doing better, and then he hadn't.

A week went by and Caitlin put him on a scale. And now he was here.

He was running more, that's what she said. That's why while even eating four bars he was still losing weight fast. There had been a metahuman, a new one, and she had finally let him train a little bit. That was done now.

Barry collapsed onto the couch. He was exhausted. _Eat_, he thought. _You're tired because you don't eat enough. _He groaned.

He wasn't in the house five minutes when the door opened and Iris walked in. She smiled at him. "Hey," she said, then frowned, "rough day?"

He groaned in response.

She walked by him into the kitchen. She was carrying grocery bags. Barry shoved his face into a pillow. He heard her moving things around, preheating the oven, getting food out.

"You want to help me make this casserole? It's healthy, I promise, and it looks good too. Squash and pumpkin. I don't really get the pumpkin but Kiera said it was to die for."

"You go ahead," Barry said. He rolled over and turned on the TV. He had forgot. Joe was going to be home tonight and Eddie was coming over too. They were going to have a real family meal.

Barry wanted to puke.  
"Do I have to be there?" he asked from the couch.

"Yes."

"But I –"

"Don't whine. You're eating with us. You live here now, Barry, you've got no excuse."

Barry groaned, loudly this time.

Iris came in about twenty minutes later, and sat down in one of the chairs. Barry looked over without moving his head.

"Thought you were making casserole."

"It's in the oven."

"Ah." Barry turned his attention back to the TV.

"What's up?" she asked.

Barry looked over again, contemplated it. On one hand, she would yell at him, tighten the reins, and then he'd have to tell Joe too, if Caitlin hadn't called him herself. On the other hand, she was bound to find out, and when she did, she would be pissed.

"I'm at 146."

"146 pounds?"

"Yes."

"Barry!"

"I know."

"That's even less then you were before we started all this!"

"I know," Barry said.

"What did Caitlin say?"

"She threatened me with a feeding tube," he muttered.

There was a pause. "You're not eating lunch, are you."

Barry played with the remote, didn't answer.

"Barry."

"No."

She sighed.

"I'll start again," he said, "I know, I was being stupid. It was just easier. I'll go back to it."

"You said that before."

"Yeah, but this time I have Caitlin with a needle in her hand and bags of fluid."

"I hope you know I'd personally deliver you to her."

"I wouldn't expect any less."

She stood up again, walked over and got behind him, behind the couch. Her hand came down on his shoulder. "You'll be alright," she said.

"Hmm."

Iris went back to the kitchen and Barry stayed at the TV, clicking through channels.

Joe arrived a little while later, followed shortly afterwards by Eddie. Iris announced dinner was ready.

Barry made his way to the table. His plate was the only one missing from the table, and he paused before sitting down, looking at Iris. She had it by the oven and was scooping something onto it, from a separate pan. There were empty packets of the calorie powder open on the counter.

_Great, _he thought_, my own special piece._ Iris dropped it in front of him when he was done. Eddie looked over, but if he was confused he didn't say anything. Barry tried to ignore him, felt his face heat up. The piece was so big, it was too big.

Iris brought the rest of it to the table and everyone took a piece, talking as they ate. There were green beans and pieces of bread on the table as well. Iris had stuck a packet of the spread Cisco made next to his plate. He didn't touch it.

He bit at the green beans. They were the only thing without the calorie enhanced food on it. He pulled apart the casserole, hacked it up on his plate and pushed it around. Iris was sending him pointed looks every few minutes. Barry finally took a deep breath and forced himself not to think, just to eat. _Feeding tube_, he thought, _sleeping at Star labs. Therapists. IV lines. _All things he wanted to avoid. He ate a few more bites, but by that point his stomach felt full of the stuff and he stopped. About half of it was gone. He nibbled at some green beans again, drank some more water.

He was the only one still eating, he realized belatedly. Only Iris still had food on her plate, but she wasn't touching it, obviously full. Joe was sending him looks too now. _Oh, God. _He forced another bite into his mouth, tried to ignore the fact that they were all staring at him. Eddie had to be looking at him by now, wondering why he was still eating, looking at all the food on his plate. Joe and Iris were practically boring holes into his head, he could feel it.

In reality, they were all talking and Eddie, although a little confused, was not at all staring at him, and Iris and Joe were exchanging worried glances, but trying to leave Barry alone enough that he could eat. Barry, on the other hand, felt like they were all watching him under a microscope.

Finally, he couldn't stand it anymore. Barry smiled a tight-lipped smile and stood up. "Great dinner, Iris," he said. Before they could tell him not to, he was up and throwing what was left on his plate in the trash, and then he was up the stairs and to his room.

"I've gotta go, check something," Joe said before getting up. He snagged the spread and a piece of bread before he left. Eddie just looked at Iris.

"Everything OK?" he asked.

Iris put her head in her hands.

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"Please, not now Joe."

"Just a couple bites, Barry. You ran out of there pretty fast."

"I'm not hungry."

"I know that, son. You still need to eat."

Barry made a face and grabbed the bread from his hand, already with the spread over it. He took a couple of fast bites, forcing it down before he could think about it.

"Iris told me," he said.

"Great."

Barry was expecting another reprimand, another lecture about how dumb and irresponsible he was being, about how if he didn't shape up real soon there were going to be serious consequences – or maybe just another spiel about how he needed to see a therapist again.

Instead he found Joe's arms around him and his head on a shoulder and the piece of bread lying on the blankets.

"I know this is so hard for you," Joe said, "And I'm really proud of you for fighting it. Keep it up, Barry. You can do it."

And Barry found himself closing his eyes, his forehead against Joe's shoulder and he didn't realize how much he needed that until he was there.

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Barry stared at the sandwich. Evil sandwich. Demon sandwich. Sandwich of Satan. Sandwich of fatty, over-calorie, disgusting, weight-gaining Satan.

So he might be being a bit dramatic.

Barry scowled and took a bite. He looked at the computer again. Maybe if he just mindlessly stared at the screen while he ate, he'd forget about the demonic pieces of bread going down his throat. Or how it tasted like chalk. Or how it was gross. And he didn't want it. And it was going to make him fat.

Barry banged his head on the table.

"Everything alright?"

Barry looked up to see Eddie in the doorway, holding what looked like a hamburger in one hand, a bag from some fast food restaurant in the other.

"Perfect," Barry said. He looked at the sandwich again from out of the corner of his eye, like maybe if he stared at it long enough it would just go away.

Eddie walked over to his desk, took a bite of the hamburger. Barry looked down at the case files, wondering what Eddie needed.

"Did you need the case from yesterday? I'm almost done with it," Barry said, shuffling through the papers.

"No," Eddie said, "I'm on lunch break."

Barry looked up. "Oh," he said. Eddie nodded at his sandwich with two bites taken out of it.

"You should take a break too."

Barry shook his head. "I'm behind."

Eddie gave him a look. "We have two cases right now, and you've finished one of them."

"Um," Barry said, not knowing how to cover up his lie, "oh yeah – I guess, I thought I had more."

Eddie gave him another look that clearly said he saw right through his bullshit. He let it go though, nodded at his sandwich.

"That all you have?"

Barry looked up at him. This whole encounter had him reeling. It wasn't like Eddie just randomly came up to his lab every day to have a nice chat during lunch.

"Yeah," Barry said.

"No protein bars today?"

Barry glanced at his bag. "Ate one earlier."

Eddie nodded. Barry stared at him for a second. Then realization hit him.

"Iris sent you, didn't she," Barry said.

Eddie shifted and that was all Barry needed.

"Oh my God, I'm going to kill her," he said, turning around and facing the computer.

"She might have mentioned you haven't been eating great," he said.

"Yeah, I don't need a babysitter," Barry said. His face was bright red and he wasn't sure if it was embarrassment or anger. He was going to kill Iris.

"In her defense I kind of asked. And it was starting to get obvious."

"Great."

"You look like a twig, Barry."

"Thanks," Barry spat.

"I just mean, I think you should really eat more," he said, "she said it was becoming a medical problem."

"Yeah, well, so what," he muttered, "I'm taking care of it. I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

"I am."

"You've been staring at that sandwich like you want to shoot it."

Barry threw up his hands. "Maybe I do."

Eddie took in a sharp breath, then he grabbed a chair over by a table and pulled it over. He sat down across from Barry, on the other side of the desk.

"I'm not here because Iris sent me," he said, "I'm here because you're her best friend, and a really good guy, and I don't want to see you get hurt."

Barry pulled a hand over his face. _Oh, he just had to be nice_. He wanted to tell him to get lost, to just leave, but he couldn't do that because there was a genuine sincerity on Eddie's face that had his anger washing away, leaving behind that bone-tired dread underneath.

Eddie reached over and snagged the sandwich Barry had abandoned he held it out, and Barry took it reluctantly, bit off another piece.

"You see the game this week?" Eddie asked.

Barry blinked but nodded, and Eddie went off on a tangent about the quarterback and the new team and how the defensive lineman really sucked and they should put the new rookie in, and Barry nodded and put in a word here and there because he actually liked watching football too, not as much as Joe, and certainly not as much as Eddie, but he'd watch it if it was on, kept up with the standings. And he slowly ate the sandwich bite by bite, and by the time a half hour had rolled around he realized the sandwich was gone and Eddie was still talking, having finished his hamburger too.

Eddie glanced at the clock. "Oh, I better go," he said.

"Yeah," Barry said, looking up. He looked back down, a little surprised he had managed to get the whole thing down, and in such little time.

Eddie started walking out and Barry stopped him. "Hey," he said, and Eddie turned back around, "Uh, thanks… thanks, Eddie."

Eddie smiled at him. "No problem," he said, "if you ever need a distraction, just ask." And he walked out.

Barry went to Star labs after he finished with work, where Caitlin made him eat another calorie bar. Joe was making dinner, too. It was harder this time around, getting back to eating seven calorie packets worth. He thought it be easier, but it was harder now that he knew the absolute relief it was to skip some during the day. The temptation was that much stronger.

"Good," Caitlin said, "you've already gained back two pounds."

Barry ignored the fleeting disappointment. That little voice going, _wow, you really are eating a ton to gain weight that fast, aren't you. Must look even fatter than you thought, huh?_ He swallowed hard.

This was good. Gaining weight meant being able to run again, meant not seeing a therapist, meant no feeding tubes, meant no more lectures, meant not feeling tired all the time, meant less hounding, less disappointment on everyone's faces.

But it didn't stop him from feeling squeamish all of a sudden.

**Yeah, so i didn't really know where to end it but it was getting long so i thought it was about time i update anyway. He's gonna get worse before he get's better, so get ready for more angst in the next chapter (i'm evil, i'm sorry). As always, please review and hope you all liked it! :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Bad language in this one. Just twice though, I think.**

Caitlin stood behind him, rubbing his back while he laid his head flat on the table between his crossed arms.

"Maybe we should try it," she said, "just a couple of days – see if it helps."

"You said it would hurt," he said, his voice muffled

"Not more than anything else you've been through," Caitlin said with a huff.

"I don't want to."

"You don't have to," she said, "but it'll make you gain weight faster."

Barry sat up again. Caitlin moved around to the other chair. He pulled the plate back towards him, ate another bite of the calorie bar, took a sip of the new protein-calorie-infused-shake Cisco and Caitlin had cooked up.

"I'm eating everything I'm supposed to," he said, almost angrily. He spun the straw of the shake. "You said I didn't have to if I gained weight again."

Caitlin dragged a hand over her face. "Barry, look… I may have not… reacted, in the best way possible."

Barry turned to look at her.

"I shouldn't have made it sound like a punishment," she said.

"And how is that not what it is?"

She closed her eyes, took in a breath. "I'm sorry, Barry, really, I'm sorry," she said, "I was scared. You're so thin, you were underweight, I was scared you would just keep going and I – I shouldn't have said it like that – it's a tool, it's just something that could help you if you need it."

"I don't need it," he said.

"Barry –"

"I _don't._"

She sighed, exasperated. "But it might _help_."

Barry didn't say anything. He ate another piece of the calorie bar.

"We're trying to make a bar with more calories," she said, "a more concentrated formula."

"I don't _want_ a more concentrated formula."

"Even if it meant you had to eat less during the day?"

"I'd still be eating the same amount," he said, "it would be the same number of calories."

"Yes, but it would be less physical food. Less bites. Less snacks, smaller meals."

"It's the same stuff in it," he said.

"Well, we'll see if we can make it, and you can try it."

"I don't want it, Cait."

"Barry –"

"I can hardly eat this knowing how much stuff is in it, I can't – I couldn't do more."

Caitlin was silent and Barry turned back to the plate. He fiddled with it.

"Barry, this isn't just about people seeing you eat anymore is it," Caitlin said quietly.

Barry kept fiddling with the plate. "I never said that was what it was about. That was just something I noticed."

"You just didn't like eating all that food."

"Yeah."

"Except now it's not just food, it's calories."

"They're the same thing."

"No, they're not, Barry."

Barry shifted uncomfortably. "They sure seem like the same thing."

"You need calories to run."

"I know that."

"If you don't get the calories, you can't run."

"I _know_."

"So why don't you want the calories?"

Barry shifted again. "I don't know," he said, "I just don't. I don't want all of that stuff –"

"In you?"

Barry stared at the plate. "It feels gross. It feels like too much."

"Why does it feel that way?"

"Because it's _so much_. It's so much more than everyone else needs. It's so much more than I should need."

Caitlin leaned forward, put a hand on his leg. "Barry," she said, shaking her head, "you have super speed. You break every law of physics and biology that exists. You are _allowed_ to be different because of it. You are _allowed t_o eat more than everyone else, because you can move faster than everyone else, because your body is so different then everyone else, in a way that is entirely amazing."

He shook his head. "I don't feel amazing. I just feel fat."

"You're not."  
"I know that," he said, and he held up his hands, getting frustrated, "I know that but I still feel like I am, or like I will be, like one of these days I'll just wake up weighing four hundred pounds or something – it's like I will be, I'll be fat, or not even fat, just bad, just awful, fat's just a word for it, like there's just something inherently wrong if I eat, like it just shows the absolute lack of self-control I have – like it's a character flaw, a horrible, awful trait that I have, because I eat like a pig and not like a normal person."

"Barry you know that's not true."

He let out an awful cross between a sigh and a laugh. "That's the thing, Caitlin. _I do_. I _know_ it's not true. I _know _I have to eat more. But _I can't do it_."

"Yes you can," she said, squeezing his knee, "you can. You're telling yourself you can't – or your brain is telling you that you can't, but you can. You can do it. I know you can, and you know you can to, it's just not going to be easy."

"Yeah," he said, "more like fucking impossible."

Caitlin stood up abruptly. Barry watched as she got up, grabbed a notebook and a pen.

She looked up at him after sitting down across the table. "We are going to write you affirmations."

"We're writing _what_?"

"Positive affirmations," she said.

"What is that?"

"It's a coping technique."

"You're giving me a coping technique?"

"Barry," Caitlin said, her eyes narrowing, "are you going to sit there and look at me and tell me you do not have a problem that you do not need to cope with."

"Alright, point."

"I need you to be serious about this," Caitlin said, suddenly locking eyes with him again, leaning forward a little bit. "We can do this. But you have to be on board. OK? No more lying about eating. Be honest, even when you mess up. At the end of the day we can't make you do anything you don't want to, but please, let us know what's going on. I need you to tell us, tell me, otherwise I can't help you. Please, Barry."

Barry looked down. He swallowed. "OK," he said.

"Promise?"

"I promise," he said, "I'll tell you. I'll talk to you. I'll try."

"Good," she said. She picked up the notebook again, opened it to a new page. "I want you to come up with positive statements to say to yourself when you don't feel like eating, or when you feel like you can't eat."

"I dunno," he said, fidgeting uncomfortably again. "Yes, I can eat. Food isn't bad. I need the calories."

"How about 'I need calories to run'."

"Fine."

"What else?"

Barry pushed a hand through his hair, leaned down on the table with his face against one hand, elbow on the surface. "Uh, food is good. Caitlin will kill me if I don't eat. Iris will also kill me. So will Joe. Being bony is not attractive. I'm not fat."

"I think 'I'm thin' or 'I'm a healthy weight'" would be better."

"First one."

She wrote it down, looked at him expectantly.

He sighed. "Um… food is good. Food is life. There are starving children in Africa. The gods frown upon starving – oh, come on Caitlin this is stupid." Barry sat back up straight, leaned against the chair.

"It's a proven method for coping with disordered thoughts when it comes to eating disorders."

"You looked this up."

"I looked this up."

"You're not a shrink, Caitlin."

"No, but _someone_ refuses to see one, so I'm making due." Caitlin's face softened, turned pleading. "Just try it, Barry. Please."

And then he felt guilty again and Barry sighed, hanging his head down. "Fine, OK, sorry, being serious." He looked up. "But I can't come up with anything, seriously, I just feel ridiculous."

"Alright," she said, "how about I list some off and you tell me ones that sound good."

"OK."

"How about 'I need food in order to be healthy'."

"Eh."

"I need to eat in order to help other people."

"Alright."

"Actually, 'I need to take care of myself in order to be able to help and take care of other people."

"Too long."

"I need to eat in order to save people."

"I liked your first one better."

"I can't save people if I don't eat."

"Maybe."

"Hmm," Caitlin said, "oh, I know" She grabbed a tablet and typed something in. "Lists of positive affirmation statements."

"Great," Barry said, and he liked to think he managed to make it only half sarcastic.

" 'I love and accept myself where I am now. I am wonderful. I am free to take charge of my life. I bless my body with love. All parts of my body are beautiful. I accept only thoughts that support me and make me feel goo-"

"_OK_, new list."

Caitlin clicked on something else. "'I will feel, heal and deal. I deserve clothes that fit me. Numbers are not a reflection of my worth. I deserve a life without my eating disorder.

Food is not the enemy.' How about that one? 'Food is not the enemy.'"

"Crazy metahumans are," Barry said.

"I'm writing that down."

Barry almost laughed.

"Alright," she said, and kept going "' I choose to be free. I never stop believing in myself. I only need my own acceptance. I will never stop trying. I will never please everyone and that is okay. I can make mistakes. I can do whatever I set my mind to. I can eat without shame.' How about that one?"

"Guilt," Barry said.

"What?"

"I can eat without shame or guilt."

Caitlin just nodded; wrote it down.

"I will never stop trying."

"That one too?"

"Yeah."

They went through a few more, Barry rejecting the vast majority.

"OK," Caitlin said, "I'm writing down a couple more."

"What?"

"My biology is different than everyone else, so I deserve to eat differently than everyone else. I am allowed to eat more than my coworkers. I am allowed to eat whenever I want to. I am allowed to eat healthy food, unhealthy food, high calorie food, and low calorie food."

Barry was quiet for a minute. "Thanks Caitlin," he said.

"Don't thank me," she said, "show me you're thankful." She paused, looked down at the paper. "I don't expect you to just drop everything and be great with it now. I don't expect you to never miss a meal ever again. I just need you to try, Barry, and to let us help you."

"OK," he said, "OK."

LLLLLLLLLLLLLLIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Barry fell into a routine. He ate breakfast with Joe in the morning. He met Caitlin directly after work, and Iris or Joe were around to make sure he had dinner. Lunch was hardest, but he was getting better with it. On good days, he ate while he looked at case files and filled out paperwork, focusing on the work. On bad days he went downstairs and found Eddie or Joe, talked with them while he ate. On the worst days it took him hours just to get one calorie bar down, regardless of anyone talking to him or of how much work he had.

In a week he was back up to 156. Caitlin said it was good, but he'd have to keep it up. Barry still thought the affirmations thing was dumb, but Caitlin gave him that look so he said he'd try it. Sometimes it helped. Sometimes he needed that reminder, that break in his cycling thoughts. Other times it just seemed annoying and ridiculously childish. He still pulled out the list when he was feeling especially guilty or like he couldn't eat. By the end of the week he had the better ones memorized. Alright, so maybe they did help a little.

He tried to be consistent, to make it a habit. That was another thing Caitlin had told him to do after her internet search on eating disorder recovery strategies. It was kind of hard, however, when he was called to crime scenes and fighting metahumans on a regular basis. Weekends were worse. He worked most Saturdays, but Sundays he was free and that started to become an issue. He slept in on the mornings, so he didn't eat breakfast with Joe and he didn't want to eat at all, wanted to skip straight to lunch most of the time. When he was waking up at ten or eleven, it really wasn't that bad, he argued. And then he was home and somehow that made lunch worse. There wasn't a clock ticking, a lunch break to signify the time. He could eat when he wanted to and he didn't want to at all. Caitlin didn't go to Star labs normally on Sundays or Saturdays, unless they had something up, and neither did Cisco. Sometimes they hung out, or Iris came over, or Joe was home but it was sporadic. Dinner was the same, but that was about it.

Days off were hard, and he felt guilty in a whole new way thinking about them. He liked not having to work, obviously, but he also liked not having people nagging at him to eat all day. He liked the break. And he liked that sometimes if he really didn't want to he would skip out on a meal or two. Just that day. Just one day. Or two, if he wasn't working that Saturday. He felt guilty for doing it, but mostly he felt guilty for enjoying it, for looking forward to it, and he knew he should talk to Caitlin or Joe and tell them he really needed someone to call him or meet with him on those days but he didn't.

He had had a rare three days off this week. It was his mom's birthday. He had scheduled for the day off weeks before, because, yeah, even now it still hurt, especially with his new powers and the reverse flash dragging up everything, all the memories. He had decided he'd take the day off, just relax, probably visit her grave too. It just happened to be on the Friday before a two day weekend for him.

It wasn't like the pain was fresh, but it affected him anyway. He visited his dad, and they talked, and that had a bittersweet pain to it too. When he went to bed that night he hadn't eaten what he was supposed to for the day, but he hadn't even realized it until the next morning. He decided he was entitled to it, to one day of slipping up.

But he didn't really eat what he was supposed to the next day either. He woke up late, after eleven, and skipped straight to lunch as a result. Iris was busy that day doing something with Eddie and Joe was out of the house so he was alone and that never really went well. Before he knew it Joe was back for dinner and he'd only eaten one bar the whole day.

Sunday he decided he really needed to eat. He took a deep breath and went down, ate a real breakfast, made himself pancakes and everything. Around eleven he ate a calorie bar.

It fell to pieces shortly after that.

He started reading a paper on string-theory and missed lunch. He told himself he was going to eat right after he got out of the shower after that, but ended up watching a movie instead. Then Iris called and they talked and then suddenly it was dinner. And Joe was still out. And Barry tried, he really did, but he only managed to get maybe half a calorie's bar worth down of the salad he made before he gave up.

Which was how he ended up in the station Monday morning with his head spinning up in his lab.

Barry gripped down on the desk, forced himself to take deep breaths until the dizzy spell passed. He filled out a couple more lines and then he was done with the file he was working on. As soon as he stood up the spinning came back.

_Should have eaten breakfast, _he thought. He slept through his alarm, was going to be late – well, later than usual. He meant to eat at work, but Singh dropped a pile on his desk and said he needed it done by ten and he didn't have the concentration today to do both.

He waited for the black dots on the edge of his vision to fade before walking out of the lab and down the stairs. They started coming back about halfway down. He kept walking, ignored it. He was a few steps beyond the last step when suddenly a wave of dizziness engulfed him.

LLLLLLLLLLIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNEEEEEEEEEEEEE

The next thing he knew Barry was staring at the station ceiling.

He could hear voices, but he didn't know what they were saying. Everything was fuzzy, hazy. He moved his fingers, tried to look around. He started recognizing faces, Eddie and the captain and a few other people. They were crowding around him and he closed his eyes again, suddenly aware of a pounding pain at the back of his head. He wanted to get up, to get out of the blinding light that seemed to be pushing down on him, away from all the people, but when he tried to move it felt like he was weighted down. He opened his eyes again and that's about when it dawned on him that he was actually lying on the floor of the station and how the hell did that happen?

"Barry, hey, you alright?"

Well that seemed like a stupid question. He was lying on the floor.

"What happened?" he muttered, the words barely getting out. He tried to sit up again and then there were arms around his shoulders helping and then he was standing and the dizziness was back and he almost blacked out again.

"You passed out." That was Eddie. He recognized that voice.

"I what?" he mumbled. He was sitting in a chair, at someone's desk.

"Hey, someone call an ambulance."

"No, no, I'm fine," Barry said, whirling around to find the person who had said it.

"Bar, I think maybe you need to see a doctor," Eddie said, from in front of him again.

"I'm fine," he said, shaking off the lightheadedness again. "I don't know what happened, I just got really dizzy. I'm fine now."

"You're head's bleeding," someone else said. Barry reached back to touch it, and sure enough his fingers came away with blood.

"It's alright," he said, "just a graze or something."

"Can you follow my finger with your eyes?"

Suddenly there was a hand in front of his face and Barry pushed it away. "I'm fine, really – sorry about that, not coordinated, probably just tripped – yeah, really embarrassing actually – I'll just –"

He tried to stand up but Eddie pushed him gently back down, hands against his shoulders.

A hand was on his head and he winced, ducked away. He felt blood drip down his neck, slide under the hem of his shirt to his back.

"Someone get some gauze," Singh yelled. A minute later and it was pressed to the back of his head and he was wincing again.

"Really, it's just – head wounds, they bleed a lot – I'll be fine."

"Call Joe, he needs to see a doctor," Singh said again. Eddie pulled out his phone.

"I'm fine, really," he said, his voice escalating, panicking.

"Hey," Eddie said, his hand down on his arm, "let's get you out of here, OK?"

Eddie looked up to Singh, almost a question.

Singh looked up at the crowd, "Alright, you heard him, move."

Eddie helped him up and he was shaky on his feet, a lot shakier than he expected. He was ready to push the arm away that helped him, but he ended up needing it. Eddie brought him into another room and Singh followed.

As soon as they were inside Eddie was crouching down, looking at him.

"What did you eat today?" he asked, his voice low.

Barry's eyes flicked from him to the captain, still standing a few feet away, looking worried.

"_I'm fine_," he said, stressing it, willing Eddie to drop it.

Eddie grabbed his hand and Barry was thoroughly confused for a moment before he put two fingers to his pulse. He looked back up at him a moment later.

"Barry, _what did you eat today_?"

"Didn't get a chance," he muttered.

"Yesterday?" His tone was hard, not harsh, but definitely hard.

"_Eddie_ –" He was thinking of the Captain and had to force himself not to look up in his direction again, willing Eddie to just shut up already.

"I'm not playing around, Barry, you just passed out right in front of me."

Barry looked down, wanted this to be over, now. "I – I had breakfast," he said.

"Lunch?"

He didn't answer.

"_Barry?_"

"No."

"I'm assuming no dinner either?"

"I had dinner."

Eddie raised an eyebrow. He was avoiding eye contact, looking at the floor and keeping his voice to a mumble.

"Saturday?"

"I'm fine, Eddie –"

"_Saturday?_"

"I had dinner."

"Just dinner?"

"Snacks."

"Those protein bars?"

"Yeah."

"Just one?"

"… yeah."

"What's your weight at?"

"None of your damn business," Barry said, feeling his face heat up.

Eddie stopped, leaned back a little. "Alright, correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm getting you've ate about a third of what you're supposed to the past few days, nothing today, and you just passed out, your face is as pale as a piece of paper, and your pulse is slow – and I thought Iris said your heartrate was unusually fast after the coma."

A part of him registered the pulse part, his stomach dropping. If Eddie thought his pulse was slow than how bad was this really?

"I feel fine now."

Eddie gave him a look. "Yeah, sure you do. Please don't tell me you hit the gym while you were on this fast of yours too."

Barry looked away. Eddie just looked at him for a second before swearing.

"Damnit, Barry."

"I didn't." He was lying. He was a bad liar. He was getting that look from Eddie again. So he might have run a bit. Might have taken several laps around the city. Might have rushed to the station that morning, faster than normal because he was late.

Singh stepped forward. "Am I calling an ambulance, or is there someone that can drive you to the hospital?"

"I-I'm fine," he said, eyes wide again, looking up, "I just got dizzy. I'm fine – I feel fine."

Someone knocked, and then the door was opened. "Joe's on his way," the man said. He offered a smile, "hope you're feeling better, Barry."

The door closed and Barry groaned, laced together his fingers behind his head, elbows on his knees staring down.

"When did this start?" Eddie asked.

"Nothing _happened_," he said, his voice getting more and more biting.

"_Barry_," Eddie said, "you're not eating what you're supposed to. How many days have you been doing this?"

"Fuck off."

If Eddie was surprised at the sudden escalation he didn't show it. Then again, it came out weak, less angry and more like he just wanted to be left alone.

"You passed out, Barry," Eddie said, "You have heart problems. Iris told me – doctors thought you were dying, lightning, coma all that. And the passing out? That usually comes right before the heart complications. So, I might just be a little worried."

Barry glowered. "Friday," he muttered.

Eddie let out a breath. "OK."

"Barry," Singh said, and Barry looked up again. His face flushed and he did not want to be having this conversation, but having this conversation in front of his boss? Yeah, that ranked up there on the list of things he _never wanted to do_. "Assuming I understand everything correctly," he paused, "I need to know – does Joe know about this, and does your doctor?"

"They know," he said. His ears were burning again.

"I'm assuming you're doing something about it?"

"Yes."

"And this is a onetime slip up?"

Barry looked at the ground. "I can't promise it, but, yeah, um, that would be the plan."

Singh was nodding. "I think that's good enough." He turned to Eddie. "Stay here until Joe gets him. I'm going to go placate the audience. And, Allen," Barry looked up again. Singh had one hand on the door, his face serious. "You need any time off – for appointments, or anything, just ask. If things get worse for any reason, just have your doctor send me an email – we'll get you on medical leave. And if there's anything else I can do, just ask."

Barry nodded. "Thank you, captain."

Singh nodded at him, walked out the door. They could hear him yelling about getting back to work, and his sarcastic, 'no he's not dying' through the walls.

Eddie turned back to him.

"You couldn't have waited until he left?" Barry asked, but there was less anger there now, relieved that Singh hadn't just thrown him out or something.

Eddie smiled. "Not something I could wait on. Not a big deal, anyway. It's probably better that he knows."

Barry grumbled. "It's not a big deal period."

"Mmm, you're a little off on that one."

"Alright," Barry said, looking down again. Eddie dragged over a chair, sat down across from him.

"What happened, anyway?" he asked.

Barry looked up. "What do you mean?"

Eddie put his hands out, shrugged. "How'd it start?"

Barry just looked at him for a moment, was silent, before looking away, his face contorting.

"You don't have to tell me," Eddie said, "but it would clear some stuff up."

"I don't really know how," he said, "it was already bad when I even realized what had happened." Eddie nodded at him. Barry had his hands clasped together in front of him, and he stared there, fidgeting with them. "I have to eat more," he said, "high metabolism and heartrate and stuff after the coma – and people said stuff about it, and I guess it just kind of got to me after a while. It's stupid. I didn't even realize I was doing it. It wasn't like someone said something and then I was upset, so I skipped a meal – it just… I don't even know, I just stopped eating in front of people, and that somehow turned into not eating at all and then Caitlin pulled me on a scale and somehow I had lost thirty pounds."

Eddie took in a sharp breath. Iris had told him he was having problems eating, but she didn't mention the details. He didn't press, because he knew Iris wanted to share, but she didn't because she knew Barry wouldn't like it, and he respected his privacy. But thirty pounds. That was a lot.

"I'm sorry," Eddie said.

Barry laughed, shook his head. "No, it's stupid – it's almost ridiculous actually. I'm not a teenaged girl. It shouldn't have bothered me – I don't even know why it did, why it happened."

"It's not ridiculous," Eddie said, "I'm sure no one meant to upset you, but the fact that they did isn't your fault."

"Yeah, well, I apparently have a crappy way of dealing with it."

"Yes, you do," Eddie said, smiling again.

"It just feels stupid. I have an eating disorder. You know, when Caitlin first mentioned it I thought she was insane."

"You don't fit the stereotype," Eddie said, "doesn't mean it doesn't happen to people like you."

Barry looked up. "You mean nerdy forensic scientists who get struck by lightning?"

"Exactly."

"Pretty sure I might be the only one with that criteria."

"Yeah, well, you're a bit of an outlier, but then again I haven't met many forensic scientists who have been struck by lightning and went into a nine month coma anyway, so I don't think that really plays into the eating disorder statistic."

"Still feels ridiculous."

"I want you to watch the tape of you passing out and then say that again."

"Alright, noted."

"You better call Iris," Eddie said.

Barry cringed, put his head in his hands. "Oh, she's going to kill me."

"That might defeat the purpose of having you eat to keep you alive."

"Oh, God, and Caitlin," Barry groaned.

"Caitlin? Caitlin Snow? Oh, she's your doctor, right?"

Barry nodded.

"Good luck on that one."

"They're going to kill me." Barry looked up only for his face to crumple again. "Oh, God, she's gonna make me do the feeding tube. Shit." He thought about it for a few more moments. "Fuck," he said quietly.

Eddie's brow creased. "Feeding tube?"

"IV thing – I don't know, all I know is it's a very large needle and involves me staying there overnight and she said if I got any worse she was going to make me do it."

"Well, that sucks."

Barry groaned into his hands again. "She's going to stick a needle in my neck. Then she's going to kill me. Joe's going to force feed me dinner. Iris is going to call me five times a day. Damnit, did they really have to call Joe?"

"It's for the best," Eddie said.

"I just screwed up," Barry said, "It was my mom's birthday. I was upset." His voice was muffled in his hands.

Eddie frowned, thrown a bit at the information. "I'm sorry, Barry."

"It's fine – it wasn't… I was fine, it just, I don't know, triggered it or something and I slept in and then I don't know, it spiraled."

"You've gotta talk to someone when that happens."

"I know," Barry said. He ran his fingers through his hair. "That's the worst part, I know – I _knew _I should have been calling someone, I knew I needed to tell someone, but I didn't – I didn't want to deal with it."

"Yeah, well, just keep that in mind for next time," Eddie said.

"Can you call Iris?" Barry asked.

"Oh, no," Eddie said, leaning back, "you are not putting that on me. You are dealing with the hysterics."

Barry laughed, then groaned. "She's gonna kill me."

"What kind of flowers you want at the funeral?"

He groaned.

**Alright I should have another one up in a day or two I already have a good chunk done. Fair warning, google and web md are my only credentials for any medical scenes to come. Thank you to everyone who keeps reviewing! (You make my day and I love you all) :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Re posting chapter - so sorry about that coding issue! I have no idea how it happened, it comes up normal on my account, but i will check this one again once it's posted and make sure it comes up correctly. Once again, this chapter contains bad language (once I think) and a lot of medical inaccuracies, though i did a lot of research for this one. This is, however, in no way standard procedure for eating disorders, just what i came up with for Barry based on his speed. So, here you go.**

"You're only at 150," she said, "which, considering, is probably better than it should be. You probably just passed out because you hadn't eaten anything recently, not because of chronic starvation."

"That's good, right?" Barry asked.

Caitlin shot him a look. "It is not life-threatening."

"So good?"

"Good is not the word I'd use to describe this situation."

Barry's eyes dropped.

Joe had his arms crossed. He had that look on his face like when Barry was seventeen and totaled the car because he was driving too fast on ice. Angry, and just a little scared – the kind of angry that comes right after being terrified and realizing everything was OK. Caitlin just looked pissed.

On top of that Wells was giving him that disapproving look. Cisco was the only one who looked remotely approachable, and even he had lost the usual smile. Barry turned to him, a pleading look on his face. Cisco shook his head and shrugged. He wasn't getting Barry out of this one.

"If you keep this up," Wells said, "you aren't going to be prepared for another metahuman attack. You've been lucky so far that none have shown up – that there haven't been any emergencies that involve more than a quick dash, in and out. One of these days something is going to happen and you won't be prepared, and someone is going to get hurt because of it."

Well wait to pull the guilt trip. Barry could feel his face going red. His ankles were crossed, legs dangling over the edge of the table where he was sitting, where Caitlin was still monitoring his blood pressure. They had made him eat two calorie bars and it made him sick but for once he didn't complain at all, didn't say anything, didn't try and procrastinate, just ate them. There was a third sitting on the table next to him but he was ignoring it. He didn't think he could do another and he didn't know what he'd do if they made him.

"Barry," Caitlin said, and he looked up. She pointed at the bar.

Barry felt his face crumple and he grabbed it, broke off a piece. He rolled it in his fingers before nibbling on it. He could do this, he told himself. He could manage this, just nibbling, biting with his front teeth, scraping off a layer of the ground up stuff one bit at a time. It was almost like he wasn't even eating.

"Eat, not _lick_," Joe said.

Well, so much for that.

He bit off a piece, a real piece, but it was still small, and it was too much. He chewed it in his mouth for a solid few minutes without swallowing.

"Your blood pressure's back to normal," she said, "Heartrate too. You haven't done any damage yet."

Yet, _yet_. It hung on the end, a warning. She hadn't emphasized it or even really said the words harshly, but it seemed to echo in the space, at least to Barry. What was he doing? He was hurting himself, and he was going to wind up hurting other people as a result. He wasn't going to be able to help them, to save them, and that terrified him. At least it terrified him enough to finally swallow the mush in his mouth and bite off another piece.

"You need a plan," Joe said.

"I agree," Wells said. And sure, _now_ they finally got on the same page.

"I'm fine except for days off," Barry said.

"I want you to write down what you eat," Joe said.

Barry pushed his face into his hands. "That won't help."

"It'll help us make sure you eat."

"It won't _help_," Barry said again, "It'll make it _worse_."

"Then what do you suggest, Barry?"

And he felt trapped, caged in.

"I don't know."

"You write down what you eat, and I want to see it – or Caitlin can. Whichever you prefer."

Barry fought down the rising anger. "I can't – I can't write it down, Joe, I can't look at it on paper, I can barely stand to eat the stuff and you want me to detail it all out? If you make me do that I'll wind up eating half as much."

Joe threw up his hands, walked a few paces away to calm down before coming back. "Barry," he said, slower this time, "we obviously need to do something."

"I just screwed up," he said, "I was doing better, I just got upset… It's only bad on my days off."

"We'll work on that," Caitlin said grimly.

"What do you mean bad on your days off?" Joe asked.

Barry explained and waited while Wells, Joe and Caitlin hashed out a new schedule, a new regime for weekends. Joe had finally stopped looking at him like he was going to ground him. Part of that might have had to do with Barry not so subtly mentioning how it had been his mom's birthday and how Joe might have completely and utterly forgotten the fact. Wells was still not pleased, and honestly he had no idea what Caitlin was thinking anymore.

"You're staying here tonight," Caitlin said. "I need to keep monitoring and make sure everything is normal."

Barry just nodded.

LLLLLLLLLIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

The good part of staying at Star labs overnight was he didn't have to face Iris. The bad part was around seven o'clock Caitlin walked in wheeling a tray and that tube-needle was sitting on top.

"No," he said, backing up suddenly on the bed that Caitlin still wouldn't let him get up from. "No – Cait, I'm sorry – I'm really sorry, I won't do it again, it was just a mistake."

"Not up for discussion," she said.

"Caitlin, come on," Barry said, getting desperate, "I won't do it again – I was getting better – I'll keep getting better. Minor setback, that's all – I don't need that."

She stopped the cart next to him. Barry was up against the side, like he could somehow hide from her. She started getting the supplies ready.

"Please, Cait, I'm _sorry_," he said.

"Not a punishment, Barry," she said. She kept getting things ready.

"Then why does it feel like one?"

"Because you shouldn't have done it."

"I'm so-"

"I'm not doing this because I'm mad," she said, looking up. She let out a long breath, closing her eyes. "Honestly, Barry, I'm not even really mad at you. I'm upset, because you didn't call anyone, but this isn't your fault. I know you didn't mean to, and I know you're sorry. I'm not doing this to try and deter you from doing it again in the future. If it happens to do that too then great, but that's not the reason. I'm doing this to help you get better faster, and to make sure you're vitals stay where they are right now after you starved your body for a few days."

"Thank you," he said, then looked down and back up again, "But I still don't want to do it." He looked down. "Really, really don't want to do it."

"I know," she said, and her smile softened, her hand on his arm. "This is going to help you."

"_Please_," he said, going for his best pathetic, miserable, pleading face.

She pushed down on his chest. "Lean back."

"Does it have to be a tube in my neck?" he asked, looking at the tray.

"I could insert it through your bowel into your stomach instead."

"Um, any _other_ ways?"

"A feeding tube through your nose down your throat, but I really don't want to attempt that with you awake and not sedated. It would not be a comfortable procedure."

"I really don't want to do this."

"You've mentioned that."

"You said it was going to hurt."

"Not too bad."

"What does not too bad mean?"

"It means you get bones broken on a weekly basis now – it won't be the end of the world."

"It'll still _hurt_."

"Don't be a child about this."

"I'm not."

Caitlin shot him a look. He fidgeted.

"Alright," she said, holding it up when she was finished. "Shirt off."

Barry stared at her. She stared back.

"If I told you I was terrified, would you stop?"

"I would go slower."

"I'm terrified."

"You are lying."

"No I'm not."

"I stabbed you with a needle three inches into your chest and pulled poison gas out of your lungs, and you are telling me you're terrified of an IV?"

"Intravenous feeding catheter."

"Barry. Take off your shirt. Let's get this done."

He pulled it off slowly, looking very unhappy. He looked over at her. His mouth was screwed up and he was eyeing the needle. Caitlin thought she might have seen his hands shake a little, almost swore there was sweat beading up on his forehead. She stopped, brought it down for a second.

"You're not… actually afraid, are you?" she asked slowly.

Barry's eyes darted. He swallowed. "I might be… a little nervous. Very nervous. OK, maybe more – Caitlin I really don't want to do this."

"We're getting this done," she said, "you're not getting out of it this time."

He fidgeted some more, stared at the needle, then up at her, but the look on her face was pretty clear. He felt the unprecedented desire to cry, immediately followed by a sweep of humiliation and shame. His back thudded down on the bed.

Caitlin rubbed his arm up and down. "You're working yourself up," she said, "you're not afraid of medical situations. You just don't want to get this done, so you're making yourself all anxious and jumpy. You need to relax."

"I don't want you pumping that stuff into me," he muttered.

"I know, but you need to not think about that right now. You'll be asleep for most of it, so you won't have to think about it. It won't be that bad. And this is only going to take a minute."

She started tapping around on his chest and Barry finally let out a long breath, resigned to having it done.

"Don't look," she said, and Barry turned his head away. When he felt the first prick he winced, and that very quickly turned into a sharp breath as the needle went in farther.

"Ow," he said, jerking. He turned his head and saw the needle and the tubes and his face paled.

"Stay still," she said. She looked up and saw him staring. "Hey," she said, "turn that way." She gently moved his head and he was taking quick, shallow breaths. "I'll be done in a minute, just try and sta-"

"_Ow_," he said, his hand coming up and grabbing Caitlin's. "Ow, shit, Caitlin, that hurts."

"Barry," Caitlin said, prying his fingers off and putting his hand down. She steered his face away again. "I know. It'll be over soon, just relax. If you can stay still it won't be as bad."

"Hating this more and more," he ground out, wincing again. "Ow… _ow_."

"I know, this part's tricky."

"OK," he said, "You definitely didn't say it would hurt this much."

"_Relax_," she said again.

"Ahg!" He jerked again, this time involuntarily, shaking. "Ow, OK, Caitlin, that's bad – that's – stop, hold on."

"Done," she said, and he felt something sliding out from under his skin. He squeezed his eyes shut. She rubbed his shoulder, swabbing at the wound and taping the wire in place.

"That _hurt_," he said, accusingly. And all Caitlin could think was that he looked like a betrayed puppy.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Stop smiling!"

"I'm sorry," she said, trying not to laugh, to be serious, "I'm sorry, really, you just look so adorable."

He threw back his head and groaned. "I am in pain and you are making fun of me."

"No, no, I'm not," she said, but she was laughing now, "I'm sorry."

"No you're not," he said, crossing his arms and glowering.

She burst out laughing. He just glared more.

"OK, OK," she said, "I'm done – sorry. Are you alright?"

"My chest hurts."

"It'll be sore for a little bit."

"You didn't tell me it was going to be like that."

"It wouldn't have helped anything."

He glared.

"If it makes you feel better, I could have stuck it in your arm and threaded a tube all the way to your heart."

"That does _not_ make me feel better."

Caitlin got him to eat another calorie bar, promised to pick up something better tasting the next day. She wanted to get him started at eight, but waited until nine instead. She had called Joe. He stopped by with a bag of Barry's things. Cisco set up one of the smaller rooms with two beds.

"I'm never going to be able to sleep with this thing in," Barry said, poking at it.

"Don't touch," she said, hitting his hand away. Barry lay down on one of the beds, fiddled with the tube coming out of his chest again.

"I look like some sort of science experiment."

"You _are_ a science experiment."

She attached the tube to the nutrition bag hanging near the bed and added some extra tape so Barry wouldn't rip it out while sleeping. Barry watched her, not at all looking happy.

"How long do I have to do this for?"

"All night."

"No, how many days?"

"We'll see where you are in a week."

"A week!"

"Not up for negotiation."

"I have to keep this thing in for a week?"

"If it were only a day I would have just given you an IV."

He frowned as she walked out.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"To get changed."

"You're staying?"

"Someone has to disconnect it for you in the morning."

"You don't have to stay all night though," he said, "or you could show me how to do it."

Caitlin shook her head. "You take in the nutrients too fast. This one's altered, and I need to be here in case something goes wrong."

Then his eyes were wide. "Something's going to go wrong?"

She felt like hitting herself in the forehead. "It's just a precaution, Barry. I want to check it around midnight and again around three."

"Oh."

When she came back he had his laptop out. He looked up when she entered.

"I don't like this," he said. His face was looking a little grey. He was squirming on the bed, picking at the tube and the tape on his skin.

"Go to sleep," she said, "you won't have to think about it then."

"It's not even nine thirty."

"You passed out."

"That doesn't mean –"

"You need rest."

"I'm not tired."

"You sound like you're twelve."

Barry just frowned at her, going back to clicking on his computer. Caitlin pulled out a book.

"This is worse than the IV."

"You'll get used to it."

"It feels weird."

"Just ignore it, Barry."

"I want to take it out."

"If you do I will just put it back in."

"I'll eat though."

"Barry."

"I promise. All seven. Three meals. And snacks."

Caitlin stopped responding.

Barry went back to the computer for a little bit, then he started fidgeting and put that away, pulled out a book. He got about three pages in before he was reading the same line three times in a row, trying not to think about the calories being injected straight into his blood stream. He tried a magazine, gave up on that too, pulled out his phone. Eventually he just slumped down in the bed and stared at the ceiling.

"I sleep on my stomach."

"Hmm?"

"I sleep on my stomach. The thing is in my neck. I can't sleep."

"Just lie on your back."

"I can't."

"Then put a blanket under your chest to cushion it and move the tube so it doesn't get tangled."

"That won't be comfortable."

Caitlin snapped the book down. "Barry," she said, "this is starting to get ridiculous."

She put the book down, reached over, and shut off the light next to her, leaving them in darkness.

Sometime later Barry's voice was back. "Cait? You awake?"

"Yes."

There was a pause.

"Is this a sleepover?"

Caitlin closed her eyes, took in a deep breath.

"No, this is a medical environment where I have to be here to check in on you."

"It's totally a sleep over."

She threw a pillow at him.

LLLLLLLLLLLLLIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Barry went back to Joe's after work. He should have gone to Star labs but he had texted Caitlin saying he wouldn't be there until nine that night. His phone had vibrated about a dozen times since then but he didn't look at it. She was going to be pissed, but he just couldn't do this. He wanted to go home.

He flopped down on the couch the minute he walked in the door and within another ten he was asleep. He woke up to the door banging.

"Barry Allen."

He closed his eyes again. Maybe if he just pretended –

"I know you're awake."

He opened his eyes. Iris was standing in front of him, her arms crossed. Closed his eyes again and cringed.

"Why are you not at Star labs."

Damn Caitlin. She had called Iris? Oh, there it was, he was in trouble. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, like he could somehow block her out.

"Actually, no, let's start from the beginning. Why did I find this out from my boyfriend and not my best friend? Why did I not find out until today? Why did he assume you had told me already? Or should I just go all the way back to _what the hell were you thinking not eating until you passed out?_"

"I was thinking you'd be nice and talk softer please."

"_Barry_." Oh, she was angry. Barry gave up and sat up on the couch. He looked at Iris.

"I didn't eat because I didn't want to. I passed out because I didn't eat. I didn't call you because I didn't want to go through the whole wow you're a screw up conversation again and I'm not at Star labs because I'm exhausted and I just wanted to go home." He stared at her, and somehow the smile he was trying to get on his face was dripping away. "Can I go back to sleep now?" He meant it to sound sarcastic, but it came out tired, flat. Iris deflated a little bit. Her voice got quieter.

"Did you have lunch today?"

"Yes."

"Did you eat when you got home?"

"No."

"Why don't we do that now."

She got him yogurt. Broke up a calorie bar. Stuck a spoon in and gave it to him. Barry took it, moved it around a few times, and stuck one spoonful in his mouth. Iris sat down next to him.

"If I eat this," he said without looking up, "will you hold off on the questions and the yelling and let me sleep?"

"No," she said, "but I won't yell." He opened his mouth. "Yeah, I know," she cut in, "I just did yell – I'm sorry, I won't anymore, promise. Just questions. Talking. Why are you so tired?"

He mumbled something she didn't hear.

"Barry?"

"Feeding tube."

"What?"

He pulled down his shirt collar, showed the tube attached, now stopped off, carefully taped in place and waiting for the IV at the lab for him that night.

She made a slightly strangled noise, shocked, but quickly recovered.

"That's –"

"I'm sleeping at Star labs. They're pumping me full of calories all night." He pushed the spoon through the yogurt. "It hurts and it itches and I can't sleep with it in my fucking neck."

"I'm sure if Caitlin's doing it then it's for a very good reason," Iris said.

"It felt like she was stabbing me with a knife when she put it in."

"Well, that's over now."

"I can't sleep with it in. She wants to put it in at eight. I can't do that. At least if it was like eleven I could try and go right to sleep but at eight I'm up and I can't – I can't think about it – I can't have that thing in me and know it'll be there all night and feel it and I just –"

"Barry," Iris said, "It's OK. How long are you doing this?"

"A week at least."

"That's not that bad. You can make it through a week."

"But she might make me do _more_."

"Then eat. Gain weight. Show her that you're back on track."

"I don't want to."

"Well then you better get used to sleeping there," she said.

"It's not funny," he said, his voice biting, "I'm supposed to go there at five to eat. Then I'm supposed to be back by eight. But in between I'm supposed to have dinner with either you or Joe. And that's – that's too much, all in a row, it's like I never stop eating then, and I can't – I can't get a break. I wake up, go to work, go to Star labs to eat, go here to eat, and back to Star labs to get sugar dumped in my veins and to sleep."

"Maybe you should talk to Caitlin about that," Iris said frowning, "you need some down time. Meanwhile, though, it is not the end of the world. You can do this. Take a bite."

It was so normal now, so automatic that the spoon went up and Barry was swallowing. He was getting a little better at that, at dealing with Iris and Eddie watching him eat, reminding him to eat. With Caitlin it was always pretty good, Joe and Cisco a little harder, but that was fine too now. He could deal with them, with that. They prompted him to eat and he would, with varying degrees of reluctance.

"I don't want to eat this," he said, staring at the yogurt he was two bites into. "I can't stop thinking about being hooked back up to that thing tonight."

"Don't think about it then," she said, "Just eat the food. It's just yogurt – just a snack."

Barry took another bite. Just a snack. Yogurt. Yogurt was healthy. The calorie bar on top was also healthy. Even if it was really, really hard to think about it that way considering how many calories were in it. But Caitlin reminded him enough: it was all nutrients. Things he needed. Healthy.

He forced himself to take another bite.

"That's good, Barry."

"Don't talk to me like I'm five," he said.

"I'm not," she said, "I'm talking to you like you're my best friend who hates eating."

Barry was quiet for a while. He pushed the spoon through the cup in front of him.

"Can you come to Star labs with me tonight?" he mumbled. He kept stabbing with the spoon, not looking up.

"Yeah, of course," Iris said.

"It just – it makes me uncomfortable – the tube and – and I get nervous and fidgety and I don't know why but it's not just irritating and unpleasant, it's – it's like my skins crawling and like my head's going to explode and I don't want to go."

"I'll stay until nine or ten," Iris said, "I'll bring games. Movies. We can catch up on Game of Thrones."

"Can we go now?" His voice was quiet again.

Iris was taken aback. "Yeah," she said, "sure – I just thought – I thought you didn't want to."

"I don't," he said, "but I really don't want to eat dinner."

"You have to eat dinner."

"I know but Joe will make something and I just want an apple or a waffle or another yogurt or something and I don't want to have to leave afterwards."

"We can go now," Iris said, "but you have to eat a real dinner either way."

Barry looked down. "I'll put Caitlin's calorie stuff on it. I just don't want to have to eat something big." He ate some more yogurt. "Too many bites."

Iris let out a breath. "We'll talk to Caitlin about it."

"OK."

**So more soon - and anyway it occurs to me that I've never like actually explicitly said this but, you know, you guys can always message me to talk or whatever if you're going through an eating disorder or have friends who are or are dealing with any of the other issues in my other fics - one of my best friends used to be anorexic so I know a lot about it - I myself have never been diagnosed with an eating disorder but I used to have eating disorder like tendencies (still kind of do it's complicated, but much better now) if that makes any sense at all (I didn't care about body image, used to be very number based though, like number on the scale - now I just forget to eat sometimes - I don't get hungry much, just don't feel like eating) so yeah just you know I'm here. Seriously, like just message me, I'm not scary i promise, and I really like talking to you guys. But i hope you are all doing well and are simply reading this because you love hurt Barry as much as I do :) End of spiel, thank you for reading again, and reviews are really, really, really appreciated! Have a nice day. Bye. :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Yes, it has been forever, no, it will not be forever for the chapter after this - i already have most of it written - anyone who's following more than one of my stories you're about to see a shit ton of chapter released - anyway, i am very sorry about the wait, i've been stressed and busy as hell, but hopefully I'm about to make up for it :) Enjoy. (Warning, this get's probably more triggery than previous chapters, so heads up)**

Barry was back to 165. Caitlin was happy. That in itself felt strange because it seemed like Caitlin was _never_ happy with him lately. It had only been a few days. The week wasn't up yet, but he was eating everything he was supposed to, plus going to Star labs every night. He hated it, but he was doing it.

But Caitlin cleared him for training, and that by itself was almost worth it. He had to keep it light, because if not she said he had to eat more, but he was glad to be running again. Wells was happy, Cisco was happy, Joe and Iris were happy, and Barry felt like shit.

Everyone said he was doing so much better. Caitlin gave him little smiles, Iris laughed more. Wells was back to that approving look and Joe wasn't bearing down on him like before. Even Cisco made more jokes.

Barry didn't say anything. He didn't say anything because it wasn't really important anyway. He ate. He choked it down.

But it had turned into a grueling task, agonizing. He wasn't sleeping. He lay awake at night in the bed across from Caitlin with the tube stuck in his neck unable to sleep. He forced the food down like it was torture, smiling the whole time. He was sick of the looks from them, from the words that alternated between yelling and too soft. It felt like acid in his throat, like his hand weighed a million pounds with a fork in it. It was exhausting and he never slept. He felt like he was back on that treadmill, except this time he was tied in place: not going anywhere, unable to get off.

"Barry."

Barry snapped upwards, looking around before realizing he was in his lab. He looked down at the papers on his desk in front of him. He must have fallen asleep filling them out.

"You alright, Barry?"

Barry looked up, only now realizing it was Eddie there. "Yeah," he said. He looked at the clock. "Yeah, I'm fine." Three. Shit. Fuck. Damnit. Barry looked at the half eaten calorie bar still on his desk. He had been out for four hours. Four goddamn hours and he was supposed to have had lunch and a snack by now and he hadn't even finished his morning calorie bar. He could speed through the paperwork once Eddie left if he had to, but the food – damnit.

"You sure you're not getting sick?" Eddie asked, looking at him like he half expected him to have contracted the plague.

"No, I'm fine," Barry said, flattening out the papers again. "Tired – fell asleep."

Eddie looked at the calorie bar. Barry straightened out the papers an unnecessary amount of times.

"Did you have lunch?"

And Barry wanted to yell. He wanted to say no, he didn't have his goddamn lunch and he also wasn't a goddamn preschooler and Eddie wasn't his babysitter. Or better, he wanted to lie. He wanted to say yes, clip, short. He wanted to say it in a bitter way that would have Eddie leaving, not wanting anything to do with one of his moods. Or maybe he wouldn't, maybe he'd say it all sincere and honest, add in a detail about a turkey sandwich or how much he loved pickles. Maybe he'd lie and make Eddie believe him and maybe he wouldn't eat anything for the rest of the goddamn day.

"No."

Eddie nodded. "Are you going to?"

Barry paused. "Yes."

"Really?"

"No."

"Barry."

"I don't know."

"It's not healthy –"

"I slept all day. I fell asleep at like eleven. I don't need calories to run on if I'm not doing anything."

Eddie's eyes narrowed though. "You were asleep for that long?"

"I don't know, I guess."

They narrowed some more, a decided frown. "Are you sleeping at night?"

"Yeah."

"Not eight hours though."

"No."

"Five?"

"Um."

"Three?"

"Sometimes."

Eddie ran a hand over his face. "You're up at Star labs, right. You need to talk to your doctors. They need to give you a sedative or something if you keep doing this to yourself."

"I'm not doing anything to myself," Barry mumbled, "it's not my fault I can't sleep with a fucking tube in my neck."

"That's not what I meant," Eddie said, "but I'm going to assume they know your opinion on the matter?"

"When I was yelling in pain I think she got the message."

Eddie winced. "Maybe you should try and get them to set you up at home – you might be more comfortable there."

"I don't think that's going to help."

"Hospitals are always uncomfortable."

"It's not a hospital. I have my own room and everything – it has more to do with the gunk they shove into my veins."

"Nutrients."

"Sugar water."

"Nutrients."

"Calorie infested pond muck."

"Barry."

"You started it."

Eddie sighed. "Are you going to eat lunch?"

Barry looked up at him sideways. "Are you going to make me?"

"No," Eddie said, "but you should. No calorie infested pond muck if you're up to weight."

Barry scowled and pulled out the bag. He had a sandwich. Calorie packet mixed with the mayonnaise on it. He pulled it out, ripped off a piece, rolled a tiny crumb of bread between his forefinger and his thumb.

"You don't look so good, Barry," Eddie said slowly.

Barry looked up again. "Thanks."

"No, I mean, you look like you're struggling."

"No, I _like_ feeling awful about every bite I take."

"I meant struggling with coping," Eddie said.

Barry rolled the piece of bread up smaller, all the air out, a little piece of gross crushed up bread made dough like from the oils on his skin.

"I'm fine," he said.

"You seem worse lately."

"I'm eating."

"I'm not talking about eating."

"Then what are you talking about."

"I'm talking about the fact that you look like shit."

"_Thanks_."

"Look like you _feel_ like shit."

"I do."

"That's not OK."

"I feel like shit or I don't eat – and I tried the second one, it didn't work out that well."

"You need to talk to Caitlin or Iris or Joe about this."

"Why?"

"Because you obviously don't want to talk to me about it."

Barry looked up again. Eddie was leaning against one of the tables, arms crossed in front of him, and Barry let out a sigh.

"I don't want to talk to anyone about it," he mumbled.

"Why are you upset?"

"I don't know, because my heads screwed up so I think eating is bad when it's not."

"No – I mean why do you feel upset?"

Barry gave him a perplexed look.

Eddie sighed again. "Just – just don't think – just answer. Why are you upset? What's your first thought."

"I don't want to eat."

"Why?"

"It makes me feel sick."

"Sick in what way?"

Barry fidgeted. "Uncomfortable. Bad. Guilty. Tense."

Eddie nodded. "So you have physical and emotional reactions to it." He looked over at Barry, who was now ripping off little pieces of bread from the edge of the sandwich. "Relax your shoulders," he said. "Close your eyes, and count to ten. Then take a bite."

Barry looked at him, half confused, have reluctant. "That –"

"Just do it," Eddie said.

So Barry huffed and Eddie visibly saw him relax his shoulders, let the tension out of his arms a little bit. And then he closed his eyes, and Eddie watched his breathing get a little deeper, a little more even, and then he opened them again, and took a bite.

"You need to relax," Eddie said, "it'll make it less uncomfortable, and it'll help to calm down your thoughts too."

Barry nodded slowly, picked at the sandwich.

"Bite."

Barry took a bite. It sat in his mouth and all he wanted to do was spit it out. He couldn't force himself to chew, to swallow, and it turned to mush in his mouth, the enzymes in his saliva breaking it up, turning it into disgusting goo and Barry was going to throw up.

"You have to swallow, Bar."

Barry considered spitting it into the trashcan. That would be disgusting and he would embarrass himself but he wasn't sure he cared. He ended up swallowing it, but when he looked down at the sandwich again he placed it back on the plastic bag he had sealed it in, pushed it away, couldn't help the nausea climbing up his throat.

"I can't," he said, looking at Eddie, already anticipating the words in his mouth. "I can't, Eddie – I –" He pushed both his hands through his hair, fingers dragging along his scalp. He had to eat the sandwich and two more bars plus the half eaten one from the morning and in two hours he would be at Star labs and Cait would make him eat more and it was already three and he couldn't do this, he couldn't do it.

"It's alright," Eddie said, "just one bite at a time."

Barry shook his head. "I – I fell asleep," he said, "I missed lunch and I didn't finish the bar from this morning, and I'm supposed to meet Cait at five to eat again and I – I can't catch up with all that – I'm supposed to have two more bars before I see her and I don't even think I can finish that one."

"You're overwhelming yourself," Eddie said, "just slow down. Deep breaths again."

Barry managed to calm himself down but it didn't help the churning in his stomach, the awful feeling mixing in his gut.

"Why don't you take another bite."

Barry shook his head. No. No, he couldn't. He didn't want anymore. He wanted to go home and go back to bed and the idea of giving in to that, of not eating for the rest of the day just sent a wave of relief crashing through him that was so tempting, so absolutely tempting.

"Barry –"

"You said you wouldn't make me."

"That doesn't mean I'm not going to try."

"Are you going to call Iris?"

"Possibly."

"Then you're going to make me."

"I'm not going to lie to her."

"If you call Iris," Barry said, staring at the sandwich, "she'll call Caitlin, and tell Joe, and then I'll get to go home to more yelling, and Caitlin will threaten to keep me on the feeding tube longer, and I can't do that, can't stand it, so yes, you are making me."

Eddie went quiet. "I won't tell her unless she asks," he said. Barry looked up, surprised. "But you should still eat it," he added.

Barry looked back at the sandwich. He pulled out a piece, but shook his head. "I can't catch up – it's too much all at once."

"Then don't worry about catching up," Eddie said, walking over, "just eat what you can handle."

What he could handle. But what could he handle? What he could handle on his own was different then what he could handle with Iris staring him down and that was different then what he could handle with Caitlin telling him he'd have the feeding tube in longer, but what could he handle now, in the lab, with Eddie?  
But he took a bite, and chewed and swallowed, and he did it all mechanically, trying not to think about it.

"Did you tell Iris you've been feeling low?"

Barry shrugged. He took another bite.

"You should."

Barry shrugged again.

"I'll tell her, if you want. If you don't want to talk about it."

And Barry paused, swallowed. "I'm fine."

Eddie gave him a look. "You're not sleeping, you seem to be getting worse with the eati-"

"I'm eating everything I'm suppose-"

"Getting worse with _coping _with the eating," he amended, "and you look like shit." He waited while Barry took another bite, his gaze on the floor now. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine."

"I mean physically – any dizziness again?"

"I'm eating now."

"You can still get dizzy."

"I'm not gonna pass out again Eddie – I – I just screwed up that one time."

"You still haven't answered my question."

"I told you I'm fine."

"And now you still haven't answered it."

Barry let out a frustrated sigh, agitated. "I'm tired," he said, "I'm tired and I have a headache and my stomach hurts pretty much all the time – I'm always cold and everything is sore."

Eddie paused, thrown by the sudden change, but he recovered quickly. "Well," he said, "you're cold because you don't weigh enough. Stomach is probably just you being anxious a lot about eating – maybe the same thing with the soreness. Headache is probably sleep deprivation, but I guess that could be stress. Are you working out at all?"

Barry shrugged again.

"Does Caitlin know?"

"Yes."

"All of it?"

Barry hesitated. "Most of it."

"How much are you exercising?"

Barry fiddled with his shirt now. "Not much."

Alright, so maybe he had been taking a few extra laps on his way to work, a few extra sprints here and there, maybe a longer run around the city right before he went to Star labs to get the feeding tube put in – but it was just to calm him down – just to get a little nervousness out of his system, and hey, they were filling him with glucose right afterwards so it was no big deal, right?

"You going to a gym?"

"Running."

"How long?"

"Not long."

"A distance, Barry."

Barry kept his mouth shut.

Eddie sighed. "Exercise is good," he said, "even if you're trying to gain weight like this. But too much and it becomes a bad habit."

"I'm fine," he said again, but this time it was mumbled, "I'm gaining weight." He took another bite of the sandwich as if to try and emphasize it, to show that he was OK.

"You can't just gain the weight, and then have everything go back to normal though," Eddie said, "you're going to have to maintain this, Barry. You get that, right? This isn't something you have to put up with for a few weeks and then you can go back to starving yourself."

"I know, Eddie," Barry said, harshly now because that was exactly what he was ignoring, was exactly what he had been telling himself for days now. If he could just get back up to weight they would relax and he could get away with not eating and he'd just hide it better and eat before runs and they wouldn't have to know and…

"You were counting on it weren't you," Eddie said softly.

Barry put the sandwich down, clenched his hands. "No," he denied, "I know – I know I have to maintain – I know I have to get better - I know – I'm going to eat – I was going to eat I just – I just thought – but not – not like that, not that much just – just maybe a little bit less but that's not even – she didn't have me eating this much at first it's to gain weight faster I won't have to have as much to maintain and I can be a little under – I don't have to be 180 I don't have to this is fine – this is – I'm fine, I'm at 165 and it's fine and I don't care what they say because I'm already fat like this and I can find it on my stomach and I don't need to weigh more I know I can't get back down to 140 again but this is fine – I should be fine here I can stop here they just won't let me even though I feel fine and I'm already fat and I don't need to be more I don't need to and I don't want to I can't believe I was ever that much – I can't –"

And Eddie had a hand on his back, telling him to breathe and Barry couldn't. He was blinking fast with his head hung down, hiding his eyes and the tears pooling there and how red his face was and he couldn't believe he just said that and the thoughts were always there in his head but they were only now strung together, put in harsh relief against the wall of his mind. He didn't want to be more. He didn't want to get back to 180, or the 190 Caitlin wanted him at. He didn't want to gain any more weight, he didn't want to be eating this much, he didn't want the little spots of fat that had come back to his stomach and his thighs.

"I think," Eddie said slowly, "that this has gotten a little bit beyond just not liking to eat, Barry."

And what was he supposed to say. He wanted to deny it, but how was he supposed to now? So he just didn't say anything, just wanted to hide.

Eddie took in a long breath. "I'm going to say this once, because I don't like talking about it, and there's no way in hell I'm dragging out the story again, so do me a favor and listen. When I was a kid, I was fat. Not what you're calling yourself, Barry – actually fat. I was overweight – doctor sanctioned overweight, not self-assessing overweight. And I hated it. When I was a freshman in high school I signed up for the football team and nearly died during tryouts with the workouts we had to do – I quit after the third day. I felt pathetic, Barry. Absolutely pathetic and worthless and everyone knew I had tried out and then quit because I couldn't handle it – or at least it seemed to me that everyone knew. Of course, now, I realize that there might have been all of five people in the school who even cared, but those five people happened to bully me every chance they got, so you can imagine how that went.

"So I signed up for cross country and track instead. I went on a diet and I ran and by my sophomore year I was at a normal weight and the bullies from the year before had moved onto new prey or graduated – I don't even remember – but I was still obsessed with being fat - I wouldn't wear any shirts or jeans that were remotely tight-fitting. I hated pictures. I limited my meals more and more, until I was somewhere around where you are now. And I probably would have kept on going until I was skin and bones except one day at a track meet I passed out. A few days later I puked on a run – something I hadn't done since I had first started. Then my times got slower. I passed out at another practice, and then got benched. When they let me start again my times were worse – I had to stop or I'd pass out and they had already sent me to the nurse once over it – my coach was starting to freak about it – and I realized I had circled right around. I went from being the pathetic kid who couldn't take football practice because he was too fat to being the pathetic kid who couldn't even run two miles because he was too thin. Except this time I had done it to myself."

He stopped and stared at Barry. Barry was just looking back, wide eyed, trying to wrap his mind around the idea of an insecure, anorexic, Eddie Thawne.

"And you're going to wind up doing the same thing to yourself," Eddie said.

Barry just kept looking at him. He had told him before that he used to be bullied, even called himself fat, but Barry thought the story had ended at that, never imagined Eddie telling him anything even if it didn't.

"But I realized it," Eddie said, "And I realized it in time, before I did something really stupid. I still ate healthy, but I ate more. And I let myself eat junk too. And, Barry, once I did that, things got so much better."

He paused again and Barry was still looking at him, didn't say one word. Eddie sighed, ran a hand over his face.

"You don't realize," he said, "how much you're hurting yourself – physically and mentally – until afterwards. Until you stop. You don't realize how much it controls you, how much it really sucks, how much it really takes out of you, until you give it up. You have to eat Barry, and even if you can live at 165 you shouldn't do that to yourself. You don't deserve to be this upset all the time, this stressed out over food. You need to let yourself get better."

And Barry looked down. "You say it like it's easy."

"Oh, it's not," Eddie said, "It's fucking awful. I'm just saying it's worth it."

Barry paused again. "Is that why you were so freaked out when I passed out?"

Eddie smiled, a lopsided grin. "Part of it. Iris did tell me you had heart complications though, after the coma – and that freaked me out more."

"My heart's fine," Barry said, "Weird, but not actually bad weird. Not susceptible to problems weird."

"Well that's good," Eddie said, "still, if you could refrain from _ever doing that again_, at least while I'm around, that would be great."

And Barry laughed. "I'll keep it in mind."

"Good," Eddie said, and at the same time pointed to the sandwich. "Do you think you can finish that?"

Barry turned, took a deep breath. "Yeah," he said, grabbing it, "yeah, I can finish it."

"OK," he said.

"But I don't think I can do the bars."

"How about just the half one from this morning."

Barry eyed it warily.

"I'll shutup and stop bothering you."

Barry couldn't help a short laugh. "Fine. Deal."

"Great," Eddie said, "so, did you see the game last night?"

**OK, so that was off a couple requests for more Eddie in relationship to his saying he was fat as a kid (I love Eddie anyway, sorry). More with Caitlin up next, but I'm setting to end game so things are hopefully going to pick up. Please, please, please review if you liked it and let me know what is good and what is bad (i mean totally review if you hate it too i'm always looking to improve) but you will totally make my day :) Thanks for reading, sorry again for the wait, and yes, i will have more out soon (very soon, promise) Bye!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Next chapter :)**

"You're not listening!" Barry yelled, throwing up his hands.

"I am listening. I'm just not changing my mind."

Barry followed Caitlin into the next room, trailing her. "It's making things worse."

"Three more days, Barry, and then you can tell me all about how much you hate it, and we'll figure out if you need it longer."

"No," Barry said, and there was a pleading note, a desperate tone.

"Yes."

"I can't do this any longer."

"You can. You will. Three days will not kill you."

"I'll take it out."

"I'll put it back in."

"I won't come back."

"Barry," Caitlin said, turning around, "are you really going to do this? Do I need to go into how I'll call Joe – how we will restrain you if necessary – how we –"

"_Stop it!_" he yelled, and the volume and the anger mixed with pain, with frustration and outrage, shocked her. "Stop – just – I'm not five – I'm not – I'm not a kid you can't just threaten and – I need – I need the control and you just you stop and I – I can't – you can't do that – it's not _fair_ – it's not – you're not even listening to me."

"Alright, Barry, I'm listening," Caitlin said softly, crossing her arms

But now that he had her full attention he didn't know what to say. He gestured wildly and stuttered and she raised an eyebrow.

"I can't keep the tube in," Barry said finally.

"Barry –"

"I'm not sleeping," he burst out.

"What d-"

"I'm not sleeping and I – I don't feel good – I feel – I feel sick, and – and nervous, and j-just awful – I feel awful and I don't know why and I can't think and everything feels like a chore and I can't sleep and I just want to sleep and get away from everything but I can't because I've got a tube stuck in my neck and I can't even get away from it in sleep because it's there and it's pumping fat into my veins and I just want to sleep – I just want to not think – I just want the tube gone and the food to stop and I never want to eat another bite again and I don't know what to do because I have to and then I have to go back and sleep here and I can't sleep and I can't eat but I have to and I _ca-an't_."

His voice broke and he was staring at her and Caitlin could see the sleep deprivation, the rings under his eyes, the hollow look there. But she could also see the indent of his hips, his ribs – the outline of his collar bone, the too-thin legs – and she sighed.

"Barry," she said, and she was hugging him and her arms were wrapped around him and Barry felt awful, felt dizzy, felt like he was going to sink into the ground, like that might be preferable to his current state. "It's OK," she said, "it's alright, I'm sorry for not listening – let's go sit down, OK?"

"I don't want the tube," he said, "please, Caitlin, please take it out."

"Let's talk first," she said.

"No – Cait, I want it out – I need it out now – please, I'm eating, I'm eating I promise – I swear – please just take it out I can't keep doing this it's killing me."

Killing him. Killing him. There was a dry irony mixed in there somewhere, Caitlin thought.

She sat down at one of the tables there and he sat across from her, but almost immediately folded his arms over the table and put his head down there.

"I'm so tired," he said, his voice weak. Caitlin reached over to rub his shoulder.

"If I take it out," he said, looking up again, "are you really going to put it back in?"

"Barry," Caitlin said, sighing.

Barry stared at her for another second, and then he was pulling the color of his shirt down, reaching for it.

"Barry!" Caitlin said, reaching across the table to try and grab his arm, "stop – you're going to hurt yourself!"

But Barry had pushed back, was pulling at the tube experimentally, winced when it tugged at his skin.

"Barry Allen!" Caitlin yelled, "Do not take that out!"

Barry looked up, fingers still on the line. He looked down once, and then let go, folded his hands again on the table.

Caitlin stared with her mouth open. "You – Barry, you idiot," she said.

"I want it _out_, Cait," he said, his voice desperate but also explanatory, almost a little apologetic. His ears went red around the edges and he was staring at the table.

"We will _discuss_ it," she said.

"_Cait_ –"

"Later, Barry."

"I want to discuss it _now_," he said.

"Later."

"Why?"

"Because you're upset."

Barry stared at her, dumbstruck. "Why does that mean we can't talk now."

"You're not thinking straight."

"I'm thinking fine."

"Barry."

Barry put his head in his hands, was close to tears. "Please, Cait, I just want it out_, please_ take it out."

"I really think you should leave it in for at least a couple more days."

"You're not listening," Barry said again, stressing the words, his hands out. "I _can't_, Caitlin, I _can't do it_. I – this is too much. I'm so fucking stressed and I can't sleep and I – I'm going to slip, I know it – you have to take it out before I screw up again – it's too much with the tube in. I'm going to slip up, and not eat, and then it's going to get worse. I need you to take it out, it's too much to deal with all at once, and I can't do it any longer."

Caitlin frowned. "Why do you think you're going to stop eating again?"

Barry threw his hands out. "I don't know. Because this is… it's hard, and I… it's getting harder, instead of easier. And the feeding tube makes me anxious, and I know it… I know it would stop if I don't eat."

Caitlin's frown only deepened and Barry felt like he was on a witness stand and had just self-incriminated. "Taking the tube out's not the answer, Barry."

"I know," he said, putting his head down between his arms for a second, "I know, I have to change my thinking, I have to learn, I have to get over it – but I can't do it all at once – it's overwhelming – it's – it's too much stress and I can't deal with it – I can't cope with it."

Barry's face was getting red again and he was staring at the table, hadn't wanted to admit that, that he really had a problem and he needed help because he didn't know what to do.

"Barry," Caitlin said softly, "I really, really think that we should get you a professional for this."

Barry looked up sharply. "I'm not seeing a shrink."

"Barry –"

"No, Caitlin," he said, "I'm not. End of discussion."

"Well then you're going to have to talk to me, Barry," she said.

"I was talking to you! You weren't listening."

"Telling me you can't keep the tube in is not talking," she said, "talking is telling me you can't cope – telling me when you're struggling, when you need _help._"

"I'm sorry, was the lack of concentration and the circles under my eyes not enough of an indicator?" he burst out. "It's not exactly like I've been in a great mood lately."

"I didn't want to push," Caitlin said right back, "and you don't exactly open up, Barry."

"Fine," he shouted, "I'm doing fucking awful, Caitlin. Is that good enough? I can't sleep, I'm miserable, and every bite is this awful fucking chore and I want to puke it back up as soon as I swallow – it's like this lead weight in my stomach and I can practically feel it sitting there like a rock and I can feel it under my skin, all the fat, like I'm just inflating with every bite and it's crawling underneath me and I want it gone and I never want to eat another bite in my life!"

Caitlin stared at him, and Barry stared back, and slowly realized that he was breathing hard, practically panting, and his hands were braced against the table, leaning forward, almost standing up. He slowly sat back down, drew his hands back, the blood pounding in his ears evening out.

"Barry," Caitlin said, but that was it. Her mouth hung open, and then shut, and then there was this awful, horrid flash of guilt across her face and Barry had his head in his hands again and realized what he said and felt even more like shit then he already had.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled into his hands, "I'm sorry, Cait, I didn't mean it – I got upset."

"No," she said, "you did mean it."

Barry looked up. She was looking at the table, but then her eyes met his again, and they weren't angry, or hurt, they were just there, listening, attentive, and he could already see her mind going.

"And I'm glad you told me," she said. "I can't help you if you don't tell me the truth," she said softer, "the whole truth – what's really going on. I didn't… I didn't know, Barry, I'm sorry."

He looked down again. "I'm sorry for yelling," he said quietly, "I don't… I don't like… I don't want to talk about it… because I'm afraid of what you'll do, with the tubes, and the eating and… and if I can't… if I really can't eat and you'll make me and sometimes… sometimes it's too much and it's just – it's easier by myself, it's less – less stress, and I know I shouldn't, but I can't help it, I don't want to talk about it, I'd rather pretend it's OK so I still have some control. I just…" He ran his hands through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. "it's getting worse, and I know it's getting worse, even if I am gaining weight, but I – I don't _want _to and I don't know what _to do_."

Caitlin reached over and put her hand over his and Barry stared down, until she spoke again.

"How about," she said softly, "you tell me what's going on inside your head." She paused, and looked up at him. "Everything, inside your head, and you let me figure it out. You trust me, and let me do my job, and take care of you, OK?"

Barry's mouth felt dry. "I – I don't –"

"Barry," she said, "can you trust me?"

He looked at her, at Caitlin, and after all what kind of question was that. "Yes."

"Then do it, and tell me what's going on, and give up that control for a little bit, and let me help."

And he broke, and started talking. Started saying everything he hadn't in the past few weeks, spilled everything. He told her every stupid little detail, every thought he was afraid to admit to himself, every notion he was afraid to tell Iris or Joe or her, before. And she listened, and took it all in, and in the end the control that he so desperately wanted was the one thing holding him back, and after he finished talking the release of not holding it all in, of not hiding or keeping secrets, of being able to let go and hand over all the problems, even for a few minutes, to someone else, to let them take care of it and figure it out, was immense, and, even if he wouldn't admit it, he felt ten times better than how he did walking in there.

"OK," Caitlin said after he was finished. "Alright. I'm keeping you on the tube for two more days." Barry opened his mouth to protest, but she put her hand up. "Trusting me, remember? We'll keep it in for two more days, because I need to know you have a bit of room in case you do slip up, but I think we're going to set you back to three meals a day. That's it. You'll have to eat more at those three times, because you still need to consume the same amount of calories, but I'm thinking you might be able to relax a little bit more if you're not constantly thinking about eating, OK?"

Barry nodded, looked down, rolled the thought around in his head for a minute. He liked the idea of not eating as many meals, but the knowledge that he'd have to eat more at each sitting was not particularly appealing.

"I want you to start eating around other people," Caitlin said.

Barry's stomach dropped. "No," he said.

"You've gotten used to doing it around Iris and Joe by eating around them. This started because of comments other people made. I think once you start eating in front of other people again, you might start to lose some of that anxiety, and once you do that it'll get a lot easier to break this aversion to food."

"No, Cait, that's too hard," he said, "I'll never eat if I have to do that."

"I'm not talking about all the time," she said, "but I think a couple times a week, you should go out to eat."

Barry's mouth went dry. "Cait, I can't do that," he said.

"You don't have to get anything big, you can start small," she said, "go to coffee with Iris – get a muffin. Eat lunch at Subway. Bring your lunch down to the main floor instead of eating up in your lab."

"No," he said, "no, Cait, that – no."

"You can do it," she said, "I know it's uncomfortable, but you'll never get over it if you never try."

"I – I – come on, Cait, that's – no," he said, his face pleading.

"You don't have to do it today," she said, "but I think you should try soon. I can go with you if you want. We can just get coffee."

He didn't look happy about it, but he finally nodded, and Caitlin breathed a sigh of relief.

"And I really think you should be eating with people. Even at lunch. You can come here, or you can eat with Eddie, or meet Iris, or whatever, really, but I think you should eat with someone else and not by yourself."

"OK," he said reluctantly.

LLLLLLLLLLLIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

"Barry… Barry… hello, earth to Barry."

Barry's eyes snapped back to Iris, and then almost immediately darted back behind her, flicking nervously back and forth.

"Barry!"

"Sorry," he said, looking back again. He fiddled with his fork, pushed a tomato over to one side of the plate, and then back again to the other.

"Take another, bite, Bar," Iris said.

He shook his head rapidly, eyes darting back up again, behind her.

"No one's watching you," Iris said, "and even if they were, you're just eating. People do it all the time, Bar."

"I feel sick, Iris," Barry said, putting down the fork for a minute. But he didn't say it in a whine, not like he normally did, trying to get out of eating. He said it abruptly, anxious and upset.

"You're not sick," she said, "it's just a salad."

They were in a restaurant, just a small place, and they were seated at the back as well, in the corner, and Iris let Barry take the seat against the wall so that he could see everything, and know that no one was watching him eat, could even really see him eat at that angle, but now she was wondering if that had been a bad idea. They had just come for lunch, or not even really lunch, because Barry had already eaten because Caitlin told him to just go out and have as much as he could, he didn't need to finish, didn't need to put any of the extra calorie stuff on it. It was strictly an exercise to help him get past this, not a necessary consumption of calories to keep him healthy physically. Iris was picking at hers slowly, because she knew Barry got more self-conscious when he was the only one left eating.

"I know but I feel really sick," he said genuinely again, "I think this was a bad idea – I don't – I feel worse, I feel a lot worse – I want to leave, Iris."

"Relax," she said, reaching over to put a hand over his. "You're fine. Breathe. You're making yourself all anxious."

But Barry's palms were sweating and he was wiping them on his jeans under the table, looking around and around the room. He felt horribly uncomfortable, and there was a blush that had settled across his face that wouldn't go away. He felt embarrassed and ashamed and guilty and extremely self-conscious and half of him wanted to leave, but the other half didn't want to move, was terrified of drawing more attention to himself.

"I really, really don't feel good, Iris," he said, "this was a terrible idea."

"No it wasn't," Iris said, "you just need to relax. Take another bite, Bar."

"I really, really can't do that either," he said. The very thought of putting anything in his mouth right now was terrifying.

"OK, well tell me about your day," Iris said, "catch anyone?"

"No, we didn't," he said curtly, "I think we should leave. I don't want to leave. Do they have a back exit? I could climb out the window."

"Barry," Iris said slowly, firmly. She leaned in across the table, squeezed down on his hand, forcing him to look at her. "You need to relax," she said, "you are fine. You are eating fine. No one is watching you. No one _cares_, Barry. As interesting and terribly important as you are, random strangers really don't care what you eat." She smiled, trying to get him to laugh, but his eyes just kept darting around the room. She sighed. "Barry," she said again, "talk to me. Tell me about work. What have you been working on?"

"A case," he said, still looking behind her.

"Yeah?"

"Theft."

"What was stolen?"

"Jewelry."

"Yeah? You've got any leads?"

"Joe thinks it might have been the manager, but the angle the cases were broken from doesn't make sense. He's left handed." Barry was slowly starting to shoot his eyes back to her, to maintain eye contact for longer before he started fidgeting around again.

"Who do you think did it?"

"I don't know. It was a man, from the shoe prints anyway, and they're right handed, and the glass was broken with something sharp, or pointed at least. But that doesn't really give us much to go on."

Iris kept asking questions, making him keep talking, until he started to forget about the people in the background and actually focus on the conversation and calm down. They had somehow gotten to the topic of Iris's work somewhere in there and she was telling a story, and he was listening, really listening, when she tried again.

"Can you take a bite, Bar?"

He blinked, looked down at his plate, and the lines of tension were immediately back. He pushed the salad around with his fork.

"Take a bite, Bar," Iris said.

He looked up, his face all tight lines and worried glances, and his eyes skimmed over the background one more time.

"Hey," she said, getting his attention, "you're looking at me. We're talking. It doesn't matter what everyone else is doing. Now take a bite, Barry."

So Barry took a deep breath and brought one forkful of salad up to his mouth, forced it in and clenched his teeth, and then made himself chew. He looked up, froze again, and wanted for all the world to bolt out of the seat right that second, because he was in a restaurant and he was eating and they would see and he would look like a disgusting pig, or a horrid sort of monster, and he was sweating, stiffening up –"

"Hey," Iris said again. Barry's eyes snapped back to her. She reached across the table and took a bite of his salad with her own fork, stuck it purposefully in her mouth. "Better?"  
No, not really, but somehow Barry relaxed a little. He chewed and swallowed, and managed one more bite when Iris prompted him again, but after that he was done. He shook his head and stared at the table, or his hands, refused to take another bite. He felt sick, nervous again, all the calm gone. And he felt guilty, shameful. Like at any second someone was going to see his plate and start staring at him with outright horror. He tried to hide it with his hands, moved his arm in front of it when anyone moved by their table.

"Barry," Iris said gently again, "it's OK that you ate some." Her voice was quiet, and she had reached across the table again. "It's just a salad. No one is going to think you're a pig for eating a few bites of salad. You could finish it and no one would think that. I finished mine, and I had pasta – do you think I'm a pig?"

"That's different," Barry said, "of course not."

"And why not?"

"Because you're a twig, Iris."  
"So are you."

"No, I'm not."

"You're underweight."

"Not anymore."

"Yes you are."

"Not technically."

"Barry, you're doctor has told you to gain weight. You are underweight. Technically."

He stared at the table. "It's just different."

"It's not, Barry. There's no difference."

He squeezed his eyes shut. "OK, there's not," he admitted, "it just feels like there is."

"It's OK, Bar. Do you think you could take another bite? One more?"

"No – Iris – I'm done."

"Are you sure? Not even just one?"

"No."

The finality in his tone made Iris nod. "OK. Why don't we get going then." She reached for the check, but then Barry stiffened so suddenly that she paused, looking up at him with concern.

His eyes were darting around again, and he was moving his hands under the table, but not before she saw them shaking.

"Barry?" she said, "what's wrong?"

"It – I can't leave."

Her frown deepened "Why not?"

"The check." His voice was tight, his words clipped.

She looked down at it. "I can pay," she said, confused.

"No," he said, "no, he'll come back. They'll clear my plate. Oh, God. This was a horrible idea. Iris, I can't – this – I don't want anyone to – shit – fuck." His eyes were still darting but he had taken on an ashen expression, realizing the extent of the predicament he had put himself in, and the total lack of exit that he currently saw.

"Hey, it's OK," Iris said, "It's alright, Barry – we're just leaving."

He stared behind her, teeth clenched tight, hands shaking under the table, trying desperately to think of a way out of this short of using his speed to just disappear.

"Barry, I'm not understanding you," Iris said.

"The…" He tried to take a deep breath, think about this rationally. He knew he was being irrational, knew that no one really cared, knew that a year ago he could do this just fine, that he was not in any danger, but the panic was clawing up his throat, and it _seemed_ real, it _felt _real, it felt like he had just made a horrible, terrible mistake with no way out. "I don't…" He took another deep breath, trying to collect his thoughts and manage out a coherent sentence. "The waiter. I don't… I don't want them seeing how much I've eaten… I don't want them clearing my plate… I don't – I just feel… really uncomfortable. Really, really not comfortable with just – just the idea of it – and I know – I know I'm being irrational but – but I – I…"

"Barry," she said, "slow down. Why do you feel that way? Why aren't you comfortable with the idea of it?"

He licked his lips, his mouth suddenly very dry, and avoided the question for a few seconds, until Iris's hard stare got him to talk again. "I… I shouldn't have – I shouldn't have eaten that much and I – I feel guilty. I feel really, really fucking guilty, Iris – I feel – I can't believe I ate that much – I can't believe – I can see it, I can see it on the plate and I already had lunch today and I shouldn't have eaten that much – I'm not supposed to – I'm not –"

"Barry," Iris said, "you _are_ supposed to."

He wrung his hands together. "I know," he said, "but I don't – I just feel guilty every time, and… and embarrassed, and ashamed, and I don't know why, except this feeling that I'm not supposed to eat, that every time I do it's like… like I've broken a rule, and a horrible rule, something… something everyone else will look down on me for – something basic that I keep getting wrong – it feels – I don't know Iris – I just, I want to get out of here, I want to get out of here a lot but I can't face them – I can't do this."

"OK," Iris said, her voice nice and calm. "Why don't you just go outside now, then? You can wait for me there while I pay."

He shook his head. "They'll still –"

"Barry," Iris said gently, "no one here cares how much or how little you've eaten except for me, and I know you know I don't think you've ate too much, so just calm yourself down. No one's going to think you're disgusting or shameful or bad or guilty of anything because you ate a few bites of salad. That being said, if you feel bad enough that you really can't be here when they take the plates away, then go outside and I'll be there in a couple minutes, OK?"

"OK," Barry said stiffly, and Iris pulled on his hand, got him up out of his seat, and then he was walking outside and his face was red and he was sure everyone was staring at him, or maybe just at the plate he had left on the table, but he walked outside and then a few yards away to lean against the building, breathing in the cool air, and after a couple of minutes of that he felt his heartrate go down and his body start to relax. He closed his eyes and when he opened them again Iris was walking towards him.

"All set," she said, walking along the side walk, Barry pushing off from the wall and following her. "I think that was good," she said.

"Good?" Barry asked, with obvious shock.

"Good," Iris confirmed, "I know you got really uncomfortable, but that's the only way you're going to get better. And you did manage to eat something, so that's a big accomplishment, Barry."

Barry felt his stomach sink a little. It didn't feel like an accomplishment.

"I'm serious," Iris said, seeing the way his expression darkened, "I'm really proud of you, Bar. I know you didn't want to do that, and I know it was really hard for you, but you did it anyway and you did really well. You ate some salad, a good portion too, and you did it even though you already ate lunch and you were very uncomfortable. And you managed to relax and talk to me a little bit too. You did a really good job, and I'm proud of you."

"Thank you," he said quietly, and OK, maybe he did feel a little bit better now, maybe it did feel a little bit like an accomplishment, a little bit like something he thought he could never do, but went and did anyway. Maybe that did make him feel a little bit better. Maybe the restaurant hadn't been _all_ that bad of an idea. He relaxed a little, and followed Iris down the street.

**So, let me know what you think! Hopefully more soon but I don't have any more written at the moment (i kind of went on fanfiction break and wrote a bunch of stuff but didn't post anything so now i'm putting it all up, but that's all i have for this story) Hope you enjoyed it!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Been a while, but here's a long one to make up for it. A little Barry &amp; Iris friendship here, don't worry, I'll get back to Caitlin next chapter :)**

Barry picked at the meal in front of him, trying to get down a couple more bites. He had started doing that lately. Just a couple more bites. When he felt like he couldn't possibly eat anymore he tried to get himself to have at least two more bites.

He was getting better. He still hated going to restaurants, frequently tried to get out of it when Caitlin decided he needed to go again, but it was helping. He didn't get as nervous anymore, was able to actually eat a decent amount most of the time. Part of it was that there was less pressure then. He was just supposed to eat what he was comfortable with – he didn't have to finish anything. He was starting to get a little more comfortable around food again, and around other people while he was eating. He still had to sit in a corner of the restaurant, had to have his back to the wall, and it couldn't be crowded, but he could do it now, and from a couple weeks ago that was major improvement.

But he wasn't feeling great. Not upset, like before. He had started acting a little more normal actually, had started getting back to his usual self, especially after Caitlin took the tube out. Which she _promised_ him would not hurt as much as putting it in. She lied.

But Barry couldn't be too mad at her, because he was just happy the thing was out and he could go back to sleeping at home. After that things started getting a little better, and he started progressing. He was up to 174, almost back to normal, and he could run longer now.

"I think I'm done," Barry said, starting to get up.

"Barry."

Barry cringed, put the plate back on the table but didn't sit down. "I don't really feel good," Barry said, "I'm not hungry."

Joe looked up at him from behind the newspaper he was reading. "What else did you have today?"

Barry cringed again, hated listing everything out. "I ate breakfast and lunch. I'm really just not hungry."

"What did you have for lunch?"

"I ate, Joe."

"What did you ha-"

"A sandwich and a salad and a calorie bar and an apple," he said.

Joe looked down at his plate. "You're really not hungry?"

"No."

"Can you try a couple more bites?"

"I already did."

"Barry, you've been doing so well lately, I don't –"

"I'm not," he said, starting to get agitated, "I don't feel good – I'm going to go lie down."

"Alright," Joe said, "but tomorrow –"

"Tomorrow you can shove three waffles down my throat instead of two," Barry said, rolling his eyes.

Joe smiled. "Is that your way of getting me to make waffles."

"Well it be nice."

Joe laughed. "Go get some rest, Bar."

So Barry went upstairs, feeling exhausted, but for once, not because of anything having to do with food.

LLLLLLIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Barry slumped down the stairs still in sweatpants and a T-shirt. Joe looked up from where he was already half finished with a plate of waffles.

"You better hurry up before they get cold," Joe said.

Barry mumbled something and sat down, taking a fork and knife to the stack.

It was some five minutes later when Joe looked up, the newspaper in front of him again, to see Barry staring at the waffles, all cut up and syrup dripping over them, but not one bite taken out.

"Barry?"

Barry looked up. There was a vacant look in his eyes, almost confused.

"What's going on, Bar?"

Barry looked back down. "I'm not hungry."

"Take a bite, Bar."

"No, like I'm really _not_ hungry." He sneezed again and then groaned, putting his head against one of his hands. "I think I'm sick."

Before he could stop him Joe was standing, leaning over the table to put a hand against Barry's forehead. His eyes went wide.

"You're burning up," Joe said, and he was gone in a second, back with a thermometer. He stuck it in Barry's mouth before he could protest. His eyes only went wider when he looked at the number. "OK, Barry, we are taking a trip to Star Labs."

"Lemme see," Barry said, grabbing for it. He read the temperature. 105.3

Barry shook his head. "I run warmer. Cait said not to worry unless I get past 107."

"107, huh," Joe said, looking at it again. "Alright. I'm going to call Caitlin anyway, but you need to call in sick."

Barry pulled out his phone to make the call while Joe contacted Caitlin, confirmed that it would be fine if Barry stayed home, that if he was still sick the next day he should come in, but that with his accelerated systems he'd probably be fine by the next morning. Barry was going for the couch when Joe stopped him.

"Why don't you try just a couple of bites," he said.

Barry whined and complained, but Joe got him back in the chair, and he was stabbing at soggy pieces of waffles with his fork.

"Just a couple bites, Barry," Joe said, "it can't be good for you to have that high of a temperature and running on empty."

"I'm really not hungry," he said, still stabbing, "I'm not just trying to get out of it. My stomach doesn't feel great."

"How about just a couple bites of calorie bar then," Joe said, grabbing one for him.

"Joe," Barry said, frowning when it was placed in front of him.

"Just a couple bites."

Barry gave in and chewed off a piece, but his stomach almost immediately revolted, and he turned a sickly green.

"Can you try one more?" Joe asked.

Barry shook his head, started shivering. "'m goin back to bed." He pushed back from the table and was up the stairs before Joe could stop him.

LLLLLLLLLIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

"Ohhh, poor Bar."

Barry opened his eyes, immediately wished he hadn't. He closed them again and burrowed back under the blankets.

"Does sickly Barry need some soup?"

"You're not allowed to tease me," Barry said from under the blankets, "I can't defend myself properly when I'm sick."

Iris laughed and Barry shrugged his way out from underneath the pile.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"Oh, you're cranky when you're sick," Iris said, flitting away when he tried to throw a pillow at her. "I just came to check on you – Dad said you were sick."

"I'm fine," he said.

Iris took a look at the scattered tissues and Barry's replication of the Himilayans he was currently creating from blankets. "Yeah, sure you are."

He let out a frustrated sigh. "I am sick, but I am not five," he said, "I am perfectly capable of staying home by myself for a day."

"Mmhm," she said, still looking fairly amused. She disappeared and came back with a thermometer, seemed reasonably satisfied with the result, and then in another ten minutes she had soup.

"Come on," she said, already tugging at his arm, "sit up."

""m not hungry," Barry grumbled, reluctantly getting into a half sitting position.

"You still need to eat," Iris said, putting the bowl of soup in his hands. He took a couple of halfhearted bites before simply moving the spoon through it aimlessly.

Iris was staring at him expectantly. "You need to finish it."

"I'm not hung-"

"I talked to Caitlin," Iris said, "you still need to eat. You'll make yourself worse if you don't get anything in your systems while your temperature is up so high."

"But I'm not hungry."

"I know you're not hungry," Iris said, "but your body needs food, so eat."

Barry grumbled and made a face that was definitely not pouting, and forced a couple more bites in before he settled another pleading look at Iris.

"All of it," she said.

"I feel sick."

"Well that much is obvious."

"I'm gonna puke."

"Have you yet?"

"No."

"Then you're probably not going to. Eat."

"Iris."

"Eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"Don't care."

"This is gross."

"It's soup. You love soup."

"Not this kind."

"Barry I've seen you eat that a million times."

"Well I don't feel like it."

"Barry."

"I don't."

"Eat."

Barry spun the spoon through the soup some more. He looked back up. "I'm not trying to get out of eating… you know, like… like I've been doing – I really do feel sick."

Iris sighed. "I know, Barry – you still have to eat."

"I really am just not hungry," he said again, earnestly.

"Still have to eat."

"Iris."

She shook her head. "You didn't have anything for breakfast. You need to have some lunch."

"I ate some breakfast," he protested.

She looked flatly at him. "A couple bites of waffle and calorie bar do not constitute breakfast."

"I wasn't hungry," he said defensively.

"I know," Iris said, pointing at the soup, "which is why you are eating now."

Barry looked down and then back up dejectedly. "I really don't want any more, Iris."

"Eat," she said again.

Barry sighed, but still only moved the spoon around in the soup.

"Barry."

He didn't look up, kept moving it.

"Barry." Her tone was hard now and he winced, brought a spoonful to his lips, but paused, his stomach protesting and rolling around and his head yelling at him for even thinking about eating when he wasn't running right now and normally he would have crushed the voice down and taken the bite, would have sought reassurance in Iris's smile when he did, would have repeated to himself that he needed food to live, to run, to help people, and that he deserved to be able to eat, to be able to eat and not feel guilty – he would have fought the part of himself that said eating was wrong, but he was so tired. The spoon dropped from his lips, the liquid spilling back into the bowl as he tilted the spoon over, and then brought it back down, spinning it through the soup just like before.

"Barry, you need to eat some more," Iris said. Barry didn't look up. Her tone was hard and firm and he was getting anxious, and that was making it worse, and he wanted to hide, hated her watching him again.

"I can't, Iris," he said quietly.

"You can," she said, "and you will. Take a bite, Barry."

He shook his head.

"Barry," she said, and he winced again because her tone had gone from hard to sharp, and this was when he usually gave in but he was just so tired and his stomach hurt and he didn't want it.

"Please, Iris, I don't feel well," he said, chancing a look up to find her eyes just as hard, just as sharp as her voice.

"That's not an excuse," she said, "I'm sorry you don't feel well, but you still need to eat." There was no sympathy in her voice.

"Come on, Iris, I'm sick," he said, pleading now.

"That's a reason you should eat, Barry, not one for why you shouldn't."

"But I don't feel well."

"Barry, you are going to eat that soup, and you are going to finish it."

His stomach dropped. He stared back down at it, figured he just made the situation worse, that she probably would have let him off with half the bowl before.

"That's too much."

"It's barely a lunch. Eat."

"Iris, my stomach hurts."

"I'm sorry. You still need to eat though."

"I don't want to."

"Too bad."

"Iri-"

"Barry," she said, her words clipped. "Eat. Now."

But he just stared at the soup. He didn't want that. He really, really didn't want that. His stomach hurt and his head was screaming that it was bad that it was awful and terrible and don't eat, don't eat, don't eat, and suddenly he felt like he was going to throw up and he thought about the bites that were already in his stomach and no, he couldn't do this, he would not, could not take one more single bite, put one more bit of it into his body, he needed it out, needed it gone, couldn't do it.

"If you don't start eating," Iris said, her voice soft, "I'm calling Caitlin."

And his stomach dropped again. "No," he said.

"Eat."

"I-Iris, no," he said desperately. He started to panic. He just got the tube out, he couldn't have it back in. For one thing it would hurt, and he knew it would hurt now, but really he just couldn't have them pump that stuff back into him, couldn't have them fill him up, or worse, get him stuck on it again, no it was too much, way too much, and everything had just started getting better, had started getting manageable when they let him off it again, he couldn't go back on.

She stared at him for a few moments, and then started to take out her phone.

"No – Iris, no!" he said, making a lunge at her arm.

"You eat," she said, tearing it back before he could grab it, "or I call. If you won't eat, then your doctor needs to know about it – and she can decide if you need the feeding tube back or not."

"Iris, no, please," he said, "I can't – I can't do that again!"

"Then you need to eat," she said.

And then he burst into tears.

Iris stared at him dumbstruck, for a moment. She just stared, shock written all over her face as tears started falling down his face, off his chin. He hid it in his hands, and Barry felt mortified, absolutely mortified because he was crying and he couldn't stop and he didn't know where it came from, couldn't stop it because it just happened, just broke like that. He was tired and exhausted and he felt like shit and he wasn't hungry at all, his stomach hurt, and he couldn't fight the thoughts when he was like that, when he didn't even want food in the first place, when not even his body wanted the food, because then it just felt so wrong, so unnatural, so bad, guilty. He was just shoving in food to shove in food, like a kid addicted to chocolate would eat it until he made himself sick, and Barry didn't want to be that kid, didn't want to be that fat little kid who just kept eating and eating and eating even when he wasn't hungry and he wasn't, he wasn't hungry at all, his stomach hurt. He couldn't do this and now she was going to put in an IV or a feeding tube and the thought was just unbearable, awful – he'd do anything to stop it from happening, but he just couldn't eat.

"Barry," Iris said tentatively, slowly putting down the phone.

Barry shied away, tried to stop crying, failing. He was shaking, and he just wanted to disappear. He felt miserable.

"Barry, it's OK," she said.

He shook his head. "I can't do it," he said, "I can't – I want to, Iris, I want to – I don't want the tube again – I don't want an IV – I just – I-I'm not hungry and my stomach hurts and it f-feels awful." He broke off, had to stop to breathe. "I can't eat right now, I can't – it feels – it feels like I'm just stuffing it in because I'm not even hungry and I can't eat when I'm not hungry it feels awful – it makes me feel awful about myself."

"Barry, it's OK," she said again, hands around his shoulders. "You don't need to feel awful about yourself – you haven't done anything wrong, Barry."

"I-I can't eat," he said, "I can't Iris, it – it feels wrong – I can't, it feels terrible – I feel terrible, it feels awful."

"Shh," she said, "I'm sorry, Bar, it's OK."

"I'm sorry," he said, "I'm sorry, Iris, I can't – hurts, i-it hurts."

And Iris frowned because she wasn't sure if he was talking about his stomach anymore or the way he felt or what, but he was obviously very distressed and if he was crying then he really did feel terrible.

"It's OK," she said, "It's alright."

"No it's not." And he kept shaking his head. He had his hands over his ears, eyes squeezed shut, and he was curling in on himself, like he was trying to get away.

"Barry," Iris said, and she reached for his shoulder and when her fingers touched him he flinched away. "Barry, you need to calm down," Iris said gently, "it's OK."

But Barry kept crying until he started to hiccup, and then he started to gag, and Iris had to help rush him into the bathroom before he puked. Afterwards he just slumped down against the cabinets of the sink. He had stopped crying, and was now just staring at the opposite wall. Iris lowered herself down and then sat down next to him, before carefully reaching out and taking his hand, rubbing soothing circles over his knuckles.

"I'm sorry for pushing you," Iris said softly, "I'm really worried about you, Barry, and sometimes… I know you're an adult, and you're perfectly capable of making your own decisions and choices, but with this… it's really hard to tell when you need a push, and when you need us to back off. I'm just… we're all worried, and we want to help, and I know you have to do a lot of things you don't want to, which means… which means sometimes you won't, and we – we have to make sure you do Barry, but I know sometimes you need a break too and I don't – I'm trying to do what you need – I just… I guess I'm not doing a great job of it."

"I'm sorry," Barry said. He closed his eyes again, shuddered.

"It's OK," she said, "It's OK, Bar, you don't have to be sorry."

He shook his head again, had his knees drawn up to his chest now. "I – I d-don't want to eat," he said, and he sounded _scared_.

And that threw her. Iris just looked at him for a second, and then she ran a hand around his shoulders, and he shrunk in against her side.

"Barry, what's wrong?" Iris asked softly.

He shook his head.

"Are you… Barry I need you to tell me what you're thinking."

He shook his head again, harder.

"Come on, Barry, talk to me."

"I just don't feel good, Iris, I'm tired and sick and I don't want to eat, I'm sorry," he said into his knees.

"OK," she said, rubbing his back, "OK, why don't we go up to your room then? Why don't you sleep for a little while?"

Barry nodded and followed her upstairs and when she sat down next to him on the bed he didn't say anything, just curled up under the blankets and shivered.

LLLLLLLLLLLIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

When Iris brought him soup later, for dinner, he just looked at her, making that awful pathetic, miserable face.

"Just a few bites," she said. She reached over and put a hand against his forehead. "Caitlin said you have to get some nutrients in you. You're already getting really pale, Barry."

Barry felt weak. He was exhausted, limbs heavy and weighted down. He had woken up like that, much worse than how he had felt earlier that morning, and he supposed it was because he hadn't eaten anything all day, but that didn't make it easier. If anything it made it worse, because he still wasn't hungry and he just didn't have the energy to force himself to eat. Iris put her hand against his forehead and he let out a quiet exhale, her hand cool against his skin.

"Barry, you're burning up," Iris said quietly. She dabbed sweat off of his forehead with the sleeve of her shirt. "When did you last take your temperature?"

"Morning," he mumbled. He turned. He really wanted to go back to sleep, really didn't want to eat.

"Barry, sit up," Iris said, pulling at his arm.

"No."

"Barry."

"Wanna sleep."

"Barry, you sound like you're two."

"Don't care."

"You need to eat."

"Not hungry."

"You still have to eat."

"No."

"Not negotiable."

"No."

"Barry."

"No."

Iris made a frustrated noise, restraining herself from threatening him with calling Caitlin again, because that had just gone over so well the last time.

"Barry," she said, forcing her voice to lose the irritation that was gathering there, "I really need you to try."

"No."

"You need to sit up."

"No."

Iris sighed. Barry had his face pressed into the pillow now. He was sweating but he was cold, shivering. He didn't want to eat and he was so tired. Iris pulled on his arm, but he was too weak to resist and soon she had pushed him into a sitting position.

"There," she said, breathing a little harder. She put the soup into his lap. "Eat."

He stared at the bowl. Then he looked at Iris. Then he stared at the bowl some more.

"Just take one bite," Iris said. "Just one. Don't think about it."

"I can't, Iris," he said weakly.

"Yes you can," she said, "don't think about eating dinner, just think about eating that one bite. Come on."

His face was getting flushed again and he just kept staring downwards, but now his hands were getting shaky, fidgeting, like he was trying to get himself to do it, but all he was managing to do was get himself worked up and flustered.

"Barry," Iris said gently, putting a hand on his shoulder, "just take a bite. Come on, you can do it."

He shook his head and his eyes were watering and he didn't know why because it was stupid it was just a bowl of soup but he didn't want it, he didn't want to eat it and he knew Iris was going to make him and he knew even though she hadn't said it yet that she'd call Caitlin and he really just wanted to make himself eat, to make himself take it in but he couldn't, he couldn't do it.

"I'm not hungry, Iris," he said, "I don't want it."

"I know, Bar, just take one little bite for me."  
Barry clenched his hands, opened them, made as if he were going to grab the spoon, and then stopped, trembling. He was breathing hard and shaking his head and all he could think was _wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong_. Bad. Guilty. He wasn't even hungry – his body didn't want it – he was just eating for the sake of eating – wrong, bad. Guilty. He wasn't supposed to. Fat. Loser. It was a watered down mix of lard and sodium and he was going to swallow it down so it could sit there in his gut, inside of him. And the bowl would be there like a plaque of his sins. Look what he ate. Look what he did. Him. Right there. A big finger pointed at him. Yeah, him. He's the disgusting, rancid pig who keeps shoving down garbage into his throat, even when he's not hungry, even when he doesn't want it.

And he felt ashamed, felt horrible, for even considering the idea of eating, and that just felt awful, unbearable. He pushed the soup away, shook his head. He didn't want it there – didn't want it even near him. He was hyperventilating. He couldn't think about food right now – every time he started to think about food he felt like trash. Guilty, shameful, but mostly just low, just worthless.

"Barry," Iris said, and she had a hand on his back, which he hadn't noticed until she spoke. "What's wrong? What's going on?"

He shook his head, kept his eyes down, couldn't bear to look at her.

"Hey," she said, ducking around, "hey, Barry, what's wrong?"

"I – I don't want to eat." _Yes you do, don't you, I bet you do, I bet you want to shove it all down your throat because that's what you do isn't it, you eat everything in sight you just keep eating and eating and eati-"_

"How 'bout one bite, Barry. Come on, I know you can do it, just one and then we'll leave it for a little while."

_You won't stop at one, will you, you disgusting, fat, awful, loser, pi-_

"Barry, hey, look at me."

_Look at me, Barry – look, let her see how stupid messed up cracked up anorexic fat disgusting loser pig obese failure revolting – _

"Barry!"

Barry's eyes finally jerked up but his face was red and they darted right back down. He shook his head. "Can't, Iris," he mumbled. He couldn't, he couldn't. He couldn't swallow down that stuff, let the fat soak up in his stomach. He wouldn't take in any more of it than he already had.

"Barry," Iris said carefully, "you're zoning out on me."

He shook his head again. "Please take it away," he said. He closed his eyes, and the words kept spinning in his head and he felt tiny, wanted to go invisible, felt worse than he had in a while, felt more ashamed, awful, guilty. He just wanted it to stop now, just wanted the words to stop.

"Barry," Iris said, "you need to tell me what's going on inside that head."

"You don't want to know," he said, his voice so quiet she almost didn't catch it.

"Barry," she said, her frown deepening. "no, you need to talk to me. Tell me what you're thinking, Barry, I mean it."

He shook his head.

"You're getting stuck in there," she said, "and whatever it is, it's not true, and it's not good, so you need to talk it through."

"I don't want to talk it through," he said, "please, please just take it away." He gestured at the soup again, almost like he was afraid of it.

"Barry," she said, "you have to eat. You're sick, and you need nutrients."

He didn't respond.

"You're not fat," Iris said abruptly. "You're not fat and you're not disgusting and you don't need to feel guilty or shameful or bad or criminal or whatever the hell you're telling yourself right now, OK? You are one hundred percent OK and justified in eating food, alright? It's not bad, it's not shameful, it's not something to be embarrassed about or upset over. You need to eat to stay alive. You need to eat today, right now, and that's OK."

_She's lying she's lying she's lying._ And all he could think of was that one friend of Iris's in high school that was bigger than all the other girls and Iris would tell her she wasn't fat either. She would tell her she was plenty thin. She would tell her she could eat junk food. She would tell her she looked good in those shirts or those jeans or that dress. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head again.

_You disgusting fat pig, do you _want_ to get bigger?_

Oh, God, he just wanted it to stop. He couldn't block the thoughts that kept coming up, the waves of that nauseous black shame.

"Please, I – I can't do this right now – I can't do this – you need to take it away – take – please, please, get- get –" and Barry rambled off into a stuttering mess, the whole thing exploding from his lips, bubbling out. He crushed his hands into his face, curled his knees upwards on the bed, was five seconds from running straight out of the room when Iris swept the bowl of soup up over to the nightstand and wrapped him in a hug, his whole body shaking.

"Shh," she said, "it's alright. It's OK, Barry."

He shook and hugged her back, wanted to hide there, sink down, and for the first time since she came up there he felt relief from the thoughts spinning in his head, the comfort of her right next to him dulling the onslaught of shame and guilt enough for him to breathe again. He didn't want her to let go.

"I can't stop thinking," he whispered, rapid, and he felt almost guilty for saying it, or more like scared, like the thoughts would come back and yell at him for even voicing it at all, like he shouldn't be saying it, but he had to, he had to, wanted to now, needed Iris, needed help, reassurance. "I can't stop – the – guilt, and – and it won't stop – it won't stop."

"It's OK," she said again, rubbing his back, "it's alright. Just relax."

"I feel awful, I feel awful," he rambled into her shoulder, "I'm awful, I'm worthless, I'm _awful_."

"Shh, no you're not," she said soothingly, "you're just upset."

"I'm stupid and fat and worthless and awful."

"You're telling yourself that because you feel bad. But you're not. You're not stupid or fat or worthless or awful at all. It's your head tricking you."

"I feel ashamed," he said, still in the same whisper voice, "I – oh, God, it feels awful, Iris, it feels _awful_." And he let out a sob and had his forehead against her shoulder, a couple slow tears sliding down his nose.

"You don't have anything to be ashamed of," Iris said calmly, "you don't have anything to be upset over. You haven't done anything wrong."

A shaky breath escaped his mouth.

"You don't have anything to be guilty or ashamed of," Iris continued, her hand making slow, steady circles on his back, "you're eating because you're body needs it, and you deserve to be able to eat. You deserve to be able to eat without feeling ashamed or guilty or upset. You don't have to do anything special for that – it's your right – not something you have to earn or anything – you have the right to feel OK about yourself and your eating."

"I don't deserve it," he said, "I don't want it, I don't need it."

Iris sighed. "Bar. Yes you do."

"No, no, I don't."

"Hey science nerd," Iris said, but her voice was affectionate, "how long can a body last without protein huh? Carbs? Fats? I'll give you a hint – _not long_."

He trembled. She was going to make him eat it she was going to make him eat it. Somehow that sent fear running through his blood. He couldn't eat, he couldn't, and she would make him and that was suddenly terrifying.

"Please don't make me," he said.

"Barry, I'm not making you do anything," she said, "but you really do need to eat something. Just a few bites, even."

"No, no, please."

"Barry," Iris said, confused, and getting increasingly alarmed. Barry was deteriorating in her arms, his voice getting more and more panicked, miserable, vulnerable. He was practically begging her at that point and she didn't know what for – it wasn't like she could force feed him. Then again he had broken down the night before at the mere mention of calling Caitlin.

"I can't, Iris," he said, "I _can't_ eat. I _can't_."

She sighed again. "Why not, Barry?"

"Because… because…" he didn't answer, but he was still shaking.

"Why, Barry?" she pressed.

"Because I'm not supposed to!" he burst out, "I – it's bad – it's bad and I can't and if I do – if I do… I don't know, something bad will happen – I just can't I'll feel terrible about myself and I'll get fat and everyone will know and I can't."

"Barry," Iris said, "you're not fat. You're not going to be fat if you eat a few bites of soup. You wouldn't be fat if you ate fifteen bowls of soup. Nothing bad is going to happen. You _are_ supposed to eat."

Barry shook his head, forehead still against her shoulder.

"Barry," Iris said, "Barry, look at me."

Barry slowly raised his head, his face still red. He was embarrassed and upset and he could barely meet her eyes.

"Look at me," she repeated, even though his eyes were on her now. She took his hands and fixed him with a heavy gaze. "I want you to repeat what I say," she said. "Ready? I'm supposed to eat."

"Iri-"

"I'm supposed to eat," she said again, more forcefully.

"I'm supposed to eat," he mumbled.

"Barry," Iris said, her voice going hard, "do you want to feel better?"

"I just don't want to ea-"

"No," she said, "look at me. You're not eating now, and two minutes ago you were saying you felt awful and ashamed and horrible, and that it wouldn't stop. And you're not eating. So this obviously isn't just you not wanting to eat. Now, do you want to feel better? Do you want it to stop? Because I'm trying to help, and you're not taking me seriously."

He looked down again. "I'm sorry," he said, "I can't – I don't want to eat and it feels – I-"

"Sh," she said, "stop talking. Stop thinking. Relax, just repeat what I say, alright? Can you do that? Can you at least try?" He nodded and she let out a breath. "OK. Barry, come on, look at me." When he looked up again she repeated the first statement. "I'm supposed to eat."

"I'm supposed to eat," he repeated, his voice soft, the words obviously uncomfortable in his mouth, but he was trying now.

"I'm sick."

"I'm sick."

"So I have to eat to get better."

"I have to eat to get better." The words were quiet, almost back to a mumble, but Iris let it go because he looked incredibly uncomfortable, which as alarming as that was, meant that he was actually focusing on the task and not just humoring her.

"I deserve to eat."

"I deserve to eat."

"I'm not fat. I'm a healthy weight."

"I… I'm not fat… I'm a healthy weight."

"I have nothing to be ashamed of."

"… I… have nothing to be ashamed of."

"Nobody fucking cares what I eat."

Barry smiled, head dipping in half a laugh and Iris smiled too. He repeated the statement, mimicking Iris's emphatic tone until she smacked him.

"I'm not guilty of anything."

He looked visibly uncomfortable again. "I'm… but-" Iris fixed him with a glare and he looked down. "I'm… I'm not… guilty – of anything."

"I'm not guilty."

"I'm not… guilty."

"I'm not guilty."

"I'm not guilty."

"I deserve to eat."

"I deserve to eat."

"I need to eat."

"I need to eat."

"Eating is OK."

"Eating is OK."

Iris kept going with more statements, sometimes repeating them, sometimes saying ridiculously simple things, but the more they kept going the more Barry seemed to calm down, seemed to actually believe the words. As she kept making him say them over and over again the thoughts spinning in his head started to dissipate, the phrases and statements taking over. It was like the positive affirmations Caitlin had made him do, except with Iris right in front of him making him say them over and over again he could relax more into it – was forced to keep going when the thoughts of _this is stupid_ and _you're lying_ started butting in. Her voice was reassuring too. It was one thing to say yourself that you could eat, but it was another to hear it from someone else as well, and the constant prompting kept him on track.

"I'm going to eat a bite of soup, and that is OK," Iris said.

Barry stumbled. "I'm… no." He cringed as Iris placed the bowl back in his lap.

"I'm going to eat a bite of soup, and that is OK," Iris repeated.

Barry looked down. He looked back up. He took a deep breath. _I'm going to eat a bite of soup, and that is OK. That is OK. This is OK. This is OK. This is OK. _It was a mantra in his head as he reached for the spoon, and he wound up mumbling the words at the end. He took a bite.

It was in his mouth and he looked at Iris and her expression was encouraging, open, proud. He managed to swallow it down. He felt sick the instant after he did it.

He looked up at Iris, everything crashing back, looking desperately to her for help.

"I ate, and that's OK."

He shook his head, made a pained humming noise in his throat, was about to bring his hands up to his head when Iris caught his wrists.

"I ate, and that's OK," she said again.

"I – I ate… and… it's OK."

"I deserve to eat."

"I deserve to eat."

"I need to eat."

"I need to eat."

"I ate. That's good."

"I ate… that's good."

She kept going for a little bit, before prompting him to eat again. He made a bigger fuss over it this time, didn't want another bite. She got a good five or six in him though before he just looked so exhausted that she finally took the bowl away and had him lie down. He looked very uncomfortable afterwards, and Iris kept a hand on his shoulder when he lay down.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

He paused for a while. "I… a little ashamed. A little guilty. I know I shouldn't. I just… I feel sick and it makes it worse – it… I'm nauseous, so it's like… it's like my body's punishing me for eating and-"

"No," she said, "you didn't do anything wrong."

"I know," he said, squirming, "I know, I know. I didn't do anything wrong. I have to eat. I… I did a good job, and I ate… and it's alright, I'm alright – it just… I don't know, I don't like how it feels."

"Well it's OK," she said, rubbing his arm. "Try and get some more sleep."

"OK," he said, and he closed his eyes, looking exhausted.

"I'm really proud of you," she said.

"Thank you."

**Whoooo - you should all review please it makes my day :) thanks for reading!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Next chapter :)**

Barry knew he wasn't eating enough. He just didn't know what to do about it.

He got better the next day, apparently it was a one day flu, or at least it was for him with his speed healing capabilities. He got up, ate a fair sized breakfast with Joe, and went to work. It went downhill from there.

He really hadn't meant to. It was an accident. But because he had been out the day before, he had a lot of catching up to do now, and he got all caught up in it. It was time for him to leave before he even realized he had skipped lunch. He had sighed and let it go, figured he was still a little sick so if he really skipped another lunch it wouldn't make too big of a difference. He was heading home to have dinner, anyway.

Of course he was about three bites in when Cisco called. Shooter in a restaurant downtown.

It was a relatively short excursion, but Barry ended up at Star labs afterwards just talking with Cisco and Wells and Caitlin. By the time he went back home it was late and he really didn't feel like finishing the dinner that had now gone cold. He promised himself he'd eat a big breakfast in the morning to make up for it, and threw the rest away. Joe had been called to the same crime scene so he wasn't there to yell at him.

Of course the next morning he was late. He ate a calorie bar instead of breakfast, but forgot to pack anything for lunch. He really didn't want to go all the way back home or to Star labs to grab his calorie enhanced food, because by now he was feeling weak and was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to run all the way there, and if he didn't run there was no way he'd be back in time for the end of his lunch break. On the other hand the idea of going out and getting some greasy burger or sub for lunch instead just made him feel sick. He figured he could handle a salad or a sandwich, but that wouldn't be near enough calories, so much that it seemed pointless to even eat it at all. He would have to have high fat foods if he wanted to get close to what he was supposed to eat, and he couldn't stand the thought of going out to even _buy_ that, other people seeing his order, watching him take it, never mind _eating_ the thing.

He could call Caitlin to have her bring him more calorie bars or calorie packets, but then he'd have to explain why he wasn't running there himself, and that was just a conversation he did not want to have. So he told himself he would eat a ton for dinner to make up for it, just as soon as he was done at work. His stomach growled in a way it hadn't for a while. Back before Caitlin and everyone had figured out he wasn't eating his stomach had shrunk so much that he barely even noticed the hunger anymore. Now it wasn't though, and the uncomfortable emptiness grated on him. That should have made him want to eat more.

It didn't.

No, instead Barry spent the day thinking about how he was hungry, how he wanted to eat a whole buffet, and with the realization that he did, he immediately felt sick. He wanted to eat that much, he wanted to. And he felt instantly guilty and ashamed and horrible, awful, for wanting it, for even thinking about eating that much. It made him feel disgusting, repulsive. He could just see himself shoving down food at a table loaded with stacked empty plates, everyone staring at him, and his face burned and his stomach flipped so that he wanted to throw up and he was suddenly terrified that his willpower would crack and he actually _would_ eat that much because suddenly he _wanted_ to. And that was just not acceptable.

Which is how he wound up sitting with Joe and Iris and Eddie (Eddie who now knew he was the Flash, although he had avoided the topic of food when explaining things) at Joe's dining room table with three very carefully measured out portions of salad, chicken, and pasta, respectively. His motions were almost methodical as he put it onto his plate, carefully taking Caitlin's calorie powder and mixing it in with the pasta sauce, using a calorie infused sauce itself and putting it over the chicken.

He ate slowly, nervously. He barely said a word during the whole meal, and normally the other three would have noticed, except they were in the middle of a heated conversation about some movie, and Barry _was_ eating, so they didn't worry too much. He finished almost everything on his plate before excusing himself. He found himself picking out the pieces of pasta with the least sauce on it though. Same with the chicken. And he noticed he was doing it, but he didn't stop himself, because really it wasn't a big deal, right? He _was eating_ the food. So what if he didn't get up all the sauce, I mean, it was still on it. It was fine.

"Wait, Bar, we have cake!" Iris said.

Barry turned from where he was, putting his plate in the sink.

"Cake?" he said, "did I forget someone's birthday?"

"No, my cousin runs a bakery actually," Eddie said, almost sheepishly, "I went to visit her and she insisted I take at least three boxes worth of deserts."

"He's exaggerating," Iris said, "come on."

"Uh, I think I'm good," Barry said, already smiling nervously.

"Come on, Bar, just have one piece," Iris said, "just a small one."

"Thanks, but I'm really not that hungry," he said. He looked at the box Eddie was setting on the table.

His stomach growled.

Eddie gave him a look, one eyebrow arched. "Sure you're not."

Barry scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, not at all liking where this was going. "Um, I'm kind of tired, I think I'll –"

Iris grabbed his wrist. "You have to at least try it," she said, dragging him back to the table. Quieter, she added, "just one bite, Bar, and if you really can't do more you can stop."

She deposited him back in his seat and Barry huffed while Eddie started cutting pieces. He gave Barry a fairly small one. Not a sliver, but very obviously made to look unintimidating. He made eye contact with Barry for a moment, a reassuring look, friendly, and Barry looked away, picked up his fork. He stared at the cake.

It looked _delicious_.

Oh, God, his mouth was watering. For all of Caitlin's calorie-enhanced foods, they really just didn't taste great. It was chocolate cake. He preferred vanilla, but apparently his stomach wasn't being picky, because it growled again, and Barry could swear it actually contracted when he even looked at the thing. His chest ached from it. He was still starving.

He watched as the rest of them tore into it. Iris was cutting herself a second slice before Barry had even touched his. He caught Joe giving him a look, not pushing, not hard, like when he didn't eat meals, but open, reassuring again. He let out a sigh and stuck his fork in. He took a bite.

Oh, God, it was good. It was all he could do not to moan around the thing. Sugar. Plain sugar and frosting and chocolate, when was the last time he even had chocolate? Suddenly he wanted a whole bar of the thing – but frosting, oh God, frosting, frosting was wonderful, was absolutely amazing, why didn't they put it on everything again? And before he knew it, he was taking another bite because it was just so good, and he was still so hungry and before he could think about it, before he could even consider it, the cake was gone from the plate and he had eaten the whole thing.

And then he stared at it.

"Did you want some more, Barry?"

Barry slowly looked up to Eddie, who was holding the knife.

"N-no," he said.

And then he felt sick.

But he smiled. He smiled and thanked Eddie and said he really was feeling tired and he was going to go up to bed, and he said goodnight to Iris and waved to Joe and he walked away the whole time with a smile on his face and when he got inside his room he went and calmly lay down on his bed, without taking off his clothes, even his shoes, and then his mind exploded.

What the hell had he just done?

What was that?

Why did he do that?

He ate the whole frickin cake.

He at the whole Goddamn thing.

He was fat.

He was a pig.

He didn't need those calories, didn't need junk food. He was eating just to eat again – he was eating just to eat, just because he was hungry, because he couldn't control himself, because he was a pathetic disgusting pig who ate whatever was put in front of him with no self-control or regard to consequences and oh my God, they had been right there, had seen him, had seen him indulge and eat the whole thing and crack and break.

And then he couldn't stop seeing their faces, and there was surprise there, surprise, because he had eaten cake, because he had cracked, had cracked just like some addict, just like some overweight person on a diet they couldn't manage, he had broken down and eaten the whole thing without even thinking and they had watched and seen and they knew, knew how awful and shameful he was – oh God, the surprise on their faces – it turned to horror in his mind – shocked horror that he could have eaten so much – they knew, they knew how he had broken, had cracked. Oh God, he was awful.

And he couldn't stop. He jumped up, paced around the room, wringing his hands and carding them behind his head, a groan starting to come out of his throat, an awful noise. He couldn't believe he just did that. He really was going to eat a whole buffet, he really would be that guy stuffing himself in the corner, everyone glancing at him with disgust, shying away from him, oh God.

He wanted to puke – had the frantic thought to stick his finger down his throat and force himself to throw it all back up, but then realized that his stupid body had probably already digested the stuff by now, with how fast he did everything, and that just made it worse, because there was nothing he could do about it now, absolutely nothing.

He flashed back to the other day, when he told Iris it felt like his body was punishing him for eating, because he got nauseous, and he found himself wishing that he felt nauseous now, but all he felt was hungry. He wanted to be punished for it, felt like he had to be, needed to be because he felt _so guilty_ – more than he had ever before, felt absolutely horrible about it. He deserved to be punished, to be _something_. He felt like he was sixteen again and had shattered the window playing soccer outside. He had panicked and left for a friend's house as a cover, had come back later after Joe had gotten home, and had lied and said he had no idea how it had happened. He came clean two days later, after the guilt nearly ate him alive as Joe interrogated Iris and searched for the cheapest replacement.

Joe had grounded him, made him help pay for it, apologize to Iris for very nearly getting her in trouble, and he got a very long lecture about lying. It had all sucked and he remembered the incident with shame and embarrassment, but being grounded had wound up being a hell of a lot better than dealing with the guilt he had been left with. And half of him wanted to go to Joe right now and demand he ground him as if he were still sixteen, because he had eaten cake and that was decidedly not acceptable.

Except he couldn't go to Joe because he was twenty five and this was not a smashed window, this was food and he knew exactly what Joe would say to him if he expressed his feelings, and that was not what he wanted to hear. He didn't want him to try and reassure him that it was alright, that he needed food, that it was OK to have junk too every once in a while, he wanted someone to admonish him and berate him for doing something so _stupid_ and so _unthinking_ and so _bad_. So he wound up yelling at himself for the rest of the night.

Which would be why he grabbed a muffin from Joe the next day, claimed he was running late, and threw it out on the way to work. Which would be why he didn't pack a lunch, and when Caitlin asked said he'd had a sandwich and pasta salad. Which would be why he told Caitlin he was eating dinner with Joe and told Joe he was eating dinner with Caitlin. Which would be why he was now up in his lab, having eaten absolutely nothing, not one bite, the day before, and feeling like his body was somehow disjointed from his head.

He was weak. His whole body felt weak, a deep ache. His hands wouldn't stop shaking. His head was spinning. He took the elevator up because he didn't think he'd make the stairs. He hadn't eaten breakfast. There was a calorie bar in his bag, but he didn't want to eat it. He had a pounding headache, and there was little black dots all over his vision, blacking out the edges. And that was about when he realized he was in deep shit.

_It's OK, it's fine_, he tried to tell himself, _I need to eat. I need to eat, I got upset, I didn't eat, I will now, everything is fine_. By the end of the day yesterday his stomach had gone numb, no longer complaining and hungry, and about then it started to get better. But the nervousness had come back that morning, and he thought he'd be fine, thought he'd be OK, and he was late, so he had run to work. He made it halfway before he collapsed, almost passing out. He told himself it was just low blood sugar and walked the rest of the way. It had been an hour since then, and things had gotten progressively worse. He couldn't ignore it any longer, and finally worked up the nerve to just go get the calorie bar already. He pushed himself up off the chair so he was standing.

A wash of dizziness swept over him and he swayed and then fell, and then he was panting on the ground. His head kept spinning and he couldn't think, could barely register that he was now lying on his back on the ground, had hit his head on the chair on the way down. He tried to sit up and his back thudded back down, his vision running black.

It cleared in a moment, although still spotty and Barry just lay there for a minute. When his head finally cleared enough for him to think, he tried to sit up again, only to be met with the same dizziness. He was breathing hard and shallow, and he suddenly went cold all over. He couldn't move. He was on the ground and couldn't move. Fear started to trickle in. Barry tried again to sit up, told himself he was overreacting, but he couldn't get more than his head off the ground. His eyes started to water, and he was trembling all over.

They were going to put the tube back in, they were going to make him have it for the rest of his life. Oh God, Cait was going to kill him, absolutely kill him, if Joe didn't first – no if Iris didn't. He really screwed up this time. He was breathing too hard again, too fast. He was panicking, on the floor, couldn't get up. He was going to die there. Or worse, Joe would find him and bring him to Cait and then she'd murder him. He couldn't move. He was going to get the tube again. He couldn't move, couldn't do anything, couldn't eat, and she would stick him full of tubes and push calories into him until he inflated like a balloon and he didn't want the tube and he couldn't move and –

_Get a grip, _he thought, _think._ He forced himself to forget about the tube and the repercussions for a moment. Right now he was on the ground and he couldn't get up and he needed food if not medical attention and no one was coming up here anytime soon. He realized he still had his phone in his pocket, and it felt like a miracle.

He reached for it. Oh God, even that was hard. He got it out though, hand shaking, and thumbed through the contacts.

He should call Caitlin. That's who he should call. But he was terrified of calling Caitlin, could already hear her voice go shrill with worry, which would be followed by fear, and then finally anger. He knew Joe was out right now, not in work. He would just call Caitlin. And then he scanned at the list of contacts and saw Eddie. He hit call.

The phone rang and rang and Barry almost cried, _pick up, pick up, pick up._

"Hello?"

_Oh thank God._ "E-," Barry gasped, sucking in breath. Talking was apparently now very difficult. He struggled for breath.

There was a pause. "Barry?"

"I… I'm…"

"Are you OK?"

Barry only managed a shuddering breath. His chest felt tight.

"Barry, what's going on? Are you hurt? Where are you?"

"L-la-b."

"Star labs?"

Barry closed his eyes. _No, no, no. _This was so hard.

"No," he got out, "U-up… upstairs."

He let out a long breath and there was silence on the other end and then there was a slam and footsteps walking up to him.

"Jesus Christ, Barry."

Eddie was kneeling down next to him and Barry turned his head, could still do that, looking up. His face was terrified, hands up like he didn't know what to do with them, and then he had one behind his neck, probing at muscle and skin there.

"What happened? Did you – are you hurt? Did you fall?"

Barry tried to turn his head again and Eddie grabbed the sides of his head with his hands.

"Don't move you might – fuck, did you hurt your neck? Your spine?"

Oh God, he thought he was paralyzed. Barry tried to shake his head. "No. Not… not hurt."

"You're not…" Eddie trailed off and just looked at him.

"Bag," Barry got out.

Eddie looked, confused, to where Barry was looking, and then got up and grabbed the bag. Barry tried to reach in but lifting his arm took a lot of energy.

"Bar," he said, gesturing at the front pocket.

"Bar? You mean…" Eddie reached inside and got out a calorie bar, staring at it for a moment. Then his head snapped back towards him. "This is because you didn't fucking eat?"

Barry closed his eyes.

"Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm calling an ambulance."

"No," Barry said, grabbing at his arm, or trying to. His wrist slipped right through his fingers. "Cait."

"I'll make sure they bring you to Star labs," he said. He was already dialing.

"No," Barry said weakly, "No, Eddie… I can't." He was working desperately to talk now, to stop him. "She'll… the tube, don't."

"No, not an option," Eddie said.

"But –"

"Don't talk," Eddie said. He grabbed Barry's hand and broke off a piece of calorie bar, put it between his fingers and brought it up to his face. "Eat."

Barry stuck it in his mouth and chewed but when he tried to swallow he went into a coughing fit. Eddie pulled him up so that he was leaning against the desk, in a more sitting position and broke off another piece of calorie bar. Barry ate that too, and then another. Slowly his head started to clear a little, and he was able to sit up better, to talk. He still felt extremely weak, but the blood sugar boost of the bar, his body digesting it so fast, helped a lot. He still didn't think he could get up on his own, but he no longer felt like he was going to drop dead any second.

"Eddie," Barry said, his voice shaky.

"No talking," he said. The calorie bar was gone and Eddie was searching through his bag for another.

"I feel better," Barry tried.

Eddie looked sharply back up at him. His face was pale. "You really did it this time, Allen."

Barry's stomach sank. "I don't need the ambulance," he said.

"You are getting on that ambulance, Barry."

"I don't need it," he kept going, "I just need another calorie bar and I'll be fine." Eddie finally managed to find one. He broke off another piece and handed it to him.

"You're getting on the ambulance," he said.

"I don't need to," he said, desperately, "I don't – I'm fine, I'll be fine now. I screwed up – but I'll eat, I promise, just please don't tell Caitlin."

"You are getting on that ambulance, and they are taking you to Star labs, and Caitlin is checking you out," Eddie said

"Edd-,"

"Barry that is the most terrifying thing I have witnessed in a long time," Eddie said, "you were lying on the ground, Barry, the freaking floor, not moving – you're still barely breathing – you are getting on that damned ambulance if I have to carry you there myself kicking and screaming."

Barry shut his mouth. "I'm sorry."

"Jesus Christ," Eddie murmured again, "did you eat anything else today?"

Barry looked down, shook his head.

"What did you have yesterday?"

Barry stared at the floor some more.

"Barry?"

He didn't say anything.

"Barry, what did you eat yesterday?"

Silence.

"You didn't eat anything, did you."

Barry shook his head.

"Christ," Eddie mumbled, dragging a hand through his hair. "If you were a normal person, you'd be dead right now."

"If I were normal," Barry mumbled, "I wouldn't have to eat this much in the first place."

"Damnit, Barry," Eddie said, "I need to call Joe."

"No," Barry said, eyes springing up, "don't, Eddie, please."

"Barry," Eddie said, "he'll want to meet you at Star labs."

"No, don't, please, Eddie, I'm begging you, I just screwed up – I'll stop, I swear, please, I just ate two calorie bars, look, two, I'm already getting back on track, I promise."

"Barry," Eddie said, giving him a look. "You can't hide this."

"I could," Barry said, his voice too high. "You could just tell the paramedics you overreacted and then not tell Cait and we could never speak of this again and it all be great."

Eddie took his wrist and checked his pulse. "You might have done actual damage this time," Eddie said softly. "You have to go to a hospital, Barry." He looked up. "And if I could bring you to a hospital where Joe and Caitlin and Iris wouldn't have to know about this, if you really swore to do better and if you let me check in with you to make sure you did, then I might consider it. But you don't have that option. The only hospital open to you is Star labs, and Caitlin sure as hell isn't going to not tell Joe."

Barry leaned his head back against the desk, squeezed his eyes shut. Oh, he was in deep shit now. He really did it this time. He just wanted to lie down and go to sleep. He slumped back against the desk, sliding down it, eyes still closed.

"Oh no you don't," Eddie said, shaking his shoulder lightly. "You are staying awake."

"I'm tired," he said, voice hoarse.

"You can sleep after they've checked you out," he said. Then he started to get up. "I'm going to go warn Singe that he's about to be overrun by paramedics. You stay awake until I get back, understand?"

Barry groaned and slumped down some more.

"Awake," Eddie said.

"Fine," Barry cut back, but he was so tired. Eddie left and his eyes shut and he opened them to Eddie yelling at him that he better not be asleep.

"I'm awake," he mumbled. Just dazed. A couple minutes later the paramedics were there, and then Barry was being manhandled onto a flat board. By then he was getting really tired. The paramedics were telling him to stay awake too now, and he heard Eddie saying something to them about Star labs, and then he was being carried down the stairs on the board, but all of that was a blur. He didn't know why now he was getting so tired. He had eaten. But either way the precinct was gone in a second and he was moving in a vehicle, the ambulance, and there was a pinch on his arm and he realized it was an IV and that was when his eyes snapped open and he tried to tear his arm back.

"No IV's," he said.

"Sir, we really need to get some fluids into you," one of them said. Barry couldn't make out who.

"No," he said. It wasn't fluids, it was sugar water, and he didn't want it in him. He kept trying to pull his arm back.

"Barry," and that was Eddie, and then Eddie's face was in front of him, stern, and why was Eddie in the ambulance? He came with him? "Stop it. Let them do their job. Stop fighting."

"I don't – I don't – "

"You don't want the IV," Eddie finished for him, "you don't want them pumping sugars into you. You need it, Barry. Relax."

"No," he said, but it came out like a whine.

"You're keeping the IV in," Eddie said, "it's just replenishing the nutrients you lost, Barry. It's not _adding_ anything, OK, just relax."

Barry groaned, protested some more, but he was too weak to do anything about it, and soon he was fading back, exhausted again, and Eddie had to keep telling him to keep his eyes open. Barry kept mumbling about how he didn't want the IV, didn't want them pumping fat into him, and Eddie kept making little reassurances, trying to both calm him down and keep him awake.

Then they were stopping and Caitlin was waiting for them so Eddie must have called. They got him inside, transferred him to one of the medical beds, which seemed to jar all the aches that had suddenly come alive in his body. He was aware of Caitlin changing the IV, of more fluids going into him, was aware that he protested a little bit, begged her not to put the tube in. Her voice seemed far away though, and in his half-aware state, he didn't recognize any anger there, just careful reassurances that no, she was not putting the tube in, and then finally her and Eddie saying he could sleep now and after that he sank down into it with exhaustion.

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When he woke up again Eddie and Iris were there. He came to slowly, and then shifted around. He still felt really weak, and there was an uncomfortable tightness under his skin. There was an itchy pain over on his left arm, which he realized was the IV. They still had him on the sugar water. His eyes felt heavy, but he opened them slowly.

"Barry," Iris said, and his eyes slipped closed again. After a moment he opened them back up and Iris was right over him. He shifted a little and realized she was holding his hand, her other hand on his arm. He blinked and tried to get his mouth to work.

"Iris," was all he managed to get out.

"Do you want some water?" she asked. He nodded and one was brought to his lips. He tried to move his hands to hold it, but they kept shaking. He managed a shaky grasp, but Iris kept her hand on it to steady him. He took a few sips before letting go, then tried to get himself a little more upright.

"Easy," Eddie said, putting a hand up, "just relax."

Barry's head fell back again. Iris grabbed him a pillow instead, and helped him get it behind his back so he could look up more.

"How are you feeling?" Iris asked, rubbing his arm with one hand.

"Tired," he said. He felt dizzy. Everything was spinning and he didn't immediately know what had even happened. It took him a couple minutes to remember.

"I'm going to get Caitlin," Eddie said. He walked off presumably to find her. Barry watched him go, still feeling dazed.

Iris sighed. "Barry Allen, what are we going to do with you."

Barry just looked at her. He didn't want to think about the consequences of what he'd done, or the complications of it either. His body ached and he felt like shit and his head was throbbing, he couldn't handle thinking about what had happened on top of it.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to."

She sighed again. "I know you didn't."

"What happened?"

She blinked at him. "You don't remember?"

"I remember falling. Eddie called an ambulance."

"Oh," she said, relaxing a little. "Caitlin said you strained yourself. There was a bunch of medical jargon in there too but bottom line, don't you _ever_ do that again."

"I'm sorry," he said again.

"You need a lot of fluids and nutrients," she said, rubbing his arm again gently, "and a lot of rest for the next few days, but you should be fine."

"I feel like shit."

Iris smiled at him. "Yeah, she said you might say that too."

"My chest really hurts."

The smile slipped right off her face. Her hand stilled for a moment. "Your chest? Like your heart?"

Barry backtracked, seeing her response, "Well, I mean, not really my heart, more like my ribs and you know just in general." But even as he tried to dampen the effect, he cringed, because it really did hurt, and it seemed just the slightest bit harder to breathe, but that could have just been the tiredness.

But just then Caitlin walked in, Eddie right behind her. She sighed when she saw him and Barry tried an apologetic smile. She didn't look mad though, just… upset. Sad, and concerned, and relieved that he was awake.

"How do you feel?" Caitlin asked.

"His chest hurts," Iris said before he could even open his mouth. Eddie's face paled a little but Caitlin just frowned.

"Probably normal," she said, "I'll run a couple tests to make sure." She was back with a syringe in a moment, and Barry winced when she took several blood samples. It took a couple tries for her to get a vein, which didn't help. She usually took it from his left arm, but that was currently occupied with the IV, and the veins on his right arm weren't as good.

After that she was flashing lights in his eyes and Barry shut them and winced.

"Barry," Caitlin said, and he opened them again. She prodded around his head, making him cringe at the bruise where he had hit it when he fell. He had a couple other bruises, but nothing concerning. Then there were numerous scans with various equipment, most of them involving his heart. They came back good and finally Caitlin pushed up his shirt and started palpitating his stomach, which made him jump at first because her hands were _cold_, and then he just fidgeted because she kept pressing down and that didn't exactly feel good.

"Stay still," she said.

"You're – ow," he said, squirming away.

"Barry."

He settled back down and let her finish, but not without some protest And then she came back with a calorie bar.

"Think you can eat something for me?" she asked gently.

Barry frowned, looked down at his lap but nodded. She came back with a calorie bar and he took a bite. He really didn't feel like eating. He wasn't hungry anymore and he was starting to get nauseous again. But he figured she'd probably wind up actually killing him if he refused, so he took a bite.

"Barry," Eddie said after he stared at it for a good five minutes after that first bite.

He put it in his mouth but just kind of nibbled on it. When Caitlin came back he had maybe a quarter of the bar gone.

She looked at it and sighed and Barry looked down at his hands. "I'm sorry," he said, struggling to work up the nerve to just take another bite. _Sugar water. IV. Feeding tube. Two bars this morning._ "I'm sorry, I'm trying."

She took the bar from him slowly. "We will be having a very long conversation about this," she said, "and it will involve several rounds of yelling about lying to us about how you're doing and what you're eating." He winced. "But that is not right now because right now I know you feel like crap and I need you to rest and relax. Thank you for trying, Barry. Right now, that's enough."

Barry looked up and she smiled at him and he suddenly saw the exhaustion there, and he was sure she had been furious when Eddie first called her but it was clear that whatever anger she had, she had worked off already. She just looked concerned and worried now, if a little firm.

"Why don't you lie back down?"

She moved the pillow so he wasn't as propped up anymore. He watched her as she left to grab another blanket for him. He was shivering and every time he shuddered it made his chest hurt more. He turned to see Eddie now sitting next to him. He gave him another sympathetic smile.

Barry closed his eyes again, tried to block out the pain. God, he felt awful. That in itself was almost enough incentive to make sure he never, ever, starved himself like that again.

"Why'd you call me?"

Barry opened his eyes. He frowned at him.

"At the station," Eddie said, clearing his throat. "You could have called anyone. You _should_ have called Caitlin. Why'd you call me?"

Barry let out a huff of a laugh. He gestured as much as he could with one hand while lying down. "Because I didn't want _this_ to happen."

Eddie rolled his eyes. "I don't know why you thought I'd be any better than Joe or Iris."

"I still had trust in you."

Eddie laughed.

"Don't worry, it's been thoroughly broken."

Eddie laughed again and Barry couldn't help half a smile. Then Eddie looked up. "Speaking of Joe…"

Barry groaned and waited while he heard footsteps approaching, and then Joe was in his line of sight, and Barry couldn't determine which emotion was most prevalent on his face, worry, or anger.

"Hi," Barry said.

"Oh, you are in so much trouble," Joe said.

Well, make that anger.

"Sorry," he said. God, how many times had he said that today?

Joe just shook his head, dragged a hand down his face. "If I _ever_ get a phone call from Singe, saying my son was taken out of the building by _paramedics_ –"

"I did try and call you first," Eddie cut in.

"By _paramedics_," Joe continued, "I'll have Caitlin pull you back to life just so I can beat it out of you again."

"Noted," Barry said.

"I won't even get into the fact that you were lying abo-"

"And I thank you so much for that," Barry said, smiling.

"Oh, what am I going to do with you?" Joe said.

"You know, Iris just said the same thing to me," Barry said.

"Did she? Well, we might have to fight over who get's to kill you if you do anything like this again."

"I'll, uh, try not to."

"No, you will not, you will not try, you just will not."

"Uh, OK," Barry said.

He sighed again. "You feeling OK?"

"No." Barry closed his eyes again. He felt like shit. His chest still hurt and the headache had gotten worse and he was exhausted and he knew he was in for it as soon as he was better and a hard dread had coiled in his stomach from it.

Joe sighed. "Well you just get some rest now."

"I'm sorry," Barry said again. He felt awful. He knew he must have scared them all terribly and he felt bad for lying to them too, but he still felt guilty when he thought about eating, except now he felt guilty for not eating too, and it was all creating a horrible cacophony in his head and he didn't know what to feel.

"It's alright," Joe said with another sigh, "We'll talk about it when you're feeling better."

But that just made him feel worse, made his stomach sink again.

"I really didn't mean to," he said, "I let it get out of control. I… I got… bad, after the cake. It was the cake."

Joe looked at him. "This was because of the _cake?_"

Barry felt his face go red and he brought his arm up to hide it again. "Nevermind," he mumbled.

"No, I just don't understand – I mean, if it was really that bad, you didn't _have _to eat it."

"No," Barry said, "it's that I _did_ eat it."

Joe stared at him some more. "I'm not following."

Barry let out a frustrated groan. "Just – never mind."

"No, explain it to me," Joe said.

"I… I ate it all," he said weakly.

And again with the blank stare.

"I think," Caitlin said, from behind him, walking around to the other side of the bed, "that what Barry's trying to say, is he felt bad, because he ate all the cake – that it made him feel guilty." Barry nodded and Caitlin looked at him. "And you didn't eat anything the next day, because you still felt guilty about it?" Barry nodded again.

"Oh," Joe said, letting out a breath, "you don't need to feel guilty about a piece of cake, Barry."

"I know," he said, "I just am."

"Hmm," he said, not looking happy with the new revelation, still working the idea around in his head.

"Do you feel better now?" Caitlin asked.

"I feel like shit," Barry said.

"No, I mean about the eating."

"Oh," he said, and then thought about it, "yeah, I guess."

"You ate a couple bars before you came here right?"

"Yeah."

"OK. So maybe next time you decide you're going to punish yourself with no food for a whole day for something that is perfectly alright you can just _tell_ one of us – and that way we can help you until you're feeling OK again," she said.

"Yeah," he said quietly, "that's probably a good idea."

"Why didn't you say anything this time?" Joe asked.

Barry felt his ears go red. "I… I was embarrassed."

Joe's eyebrows scrunched together. "Barry, we all want to help you, you have nothing to be embarrassed about."

"No," Barry said, "I… I was embarrassed that I had eaten so much. The cake. I just… you were all so surprised when I ate it and I – I don't know, I just wanted to disappear as soon as I realized I had eaten it all."

"Oh, Barry," Joe said, "we were _happy_ you ate it."

"I know," he said quietly.

"You deserve to be able to eat some dessert every once in a while, Barry," Joe said, "we didn't think you'd have any – we were happy and proud of you when you did."

"Well it feels like I'm some carnival freak," he said.

"Hold on," Cisco said, suddenly turning from where he had been standing at the side of the room, "let me get this straight, eating cake, _eating cake_ makes you feel like a carnival freak? _Eating cake_, but not _running faster the speed of sound_, makes you a carnival freak?"

Barry swallowed. "OK, I can admit my thinking might not be the absolute clearest."

"You think?" Cisco said.

Barry just offered a smile.

**OK so I promise I will stop torturing him eventually - going to start getting better now. Please review and tell me what you think! :)**


	12. Chapter 12

**Shorter one, setting up, figured I'd post it since I have it.**

**Note* randomdude, I totally get it, but my reasoning for dragging it out was 1) show how these things take time, trial and error, not a sudden fix, and 2) because I like the story and want to keep rambling :) Not the best literary motivation, but hey (and thanks for reading and for letting me know what you thought)**

Barry pushed food around with his fork on the plate angrily, his face burning. Joe was clearing the table and Iris was already in the living room. He had tried to get up and Joe had just barked a "no" with a warning glance and he was sitting again. They were treating him like a child and he was sick of it.

"I think I'm done," Barry said, his voice low, looking at the half eaten plate of meat loaf and pasta.

"You thought wrong," Joe said.

"I'm not hungry."

"Don't care."

"I'm gonna throw up."

"No you're not."

"I'm tired."

"Do not make me threaten to send you to your room." Joe waved a spoon at him from where he was loading the dish washer and Barry glared.

"I'm not a child."

"Still my child."

"I'm twenty five."

"_Still_ my child."

Barry fumed, pushed more food around, but he didn't want anymore, was so, so sick and tired of this.

"I'm tired," Barry said.

"Then eat and you can go to bed."

"I'm not hungry."

"You know, you might have mentioned that."

"I still feel sick – from the cold." Barry coughed for effect. He really did still feel a little sick, definitely tired, but that was probably from starving himself, not any leftover bits of illness.

"Eat – it'll make you feel better.

Barry glowered back down at the plate.

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He wasn't sure how it happened but his head was jerking up at the touch of a hand on his shoulder and then he was blinking blearily and realizing he was still sitting at the dining room table, where he had just woken up.

There was a sigh behind him and he turned to see Joe, that disapproving look that was tinged with concern and affection – the one that made him feel like shit every time he saw it.

"Let's get some of that food in you, Bar, so you can go up to bed."

Barry looked down, but the plate was still there, still with half the food left, and it was cold now and it looked gross, would taste gross, and he groaned and put his head back down against the table in his arms.

"I'll heat it up," Joe said, and took the plate from the table. Barry felt better just at that, just at him taking the plate away, even for a minute. He looked up as Joe put it in the microwave, set it to heat. "You have to eat it," Joe said, already seeing the look on Barry's face, which quickly deteriorated to pleading.

"I'm not hungry," he said, "I'm tired – can't I just go to bed?"

"No," Joe said. "Three meals. Not two. You eat."

"It was two and a half," Barry mumbled, but he stayed. Iris was gone and he felt awful, wished she was still there because she always knew what to say to him and he didn't want Joe right now because he was sick of feeling like a little kid.

Joe put the plate down in front of him and Barry rested his head against his hand, propped up on his elbow. He made no move to touch the fork, just looked down instead. He looked back up at Joe, expression blank.

"Do we really have to do this?" Joe asked, closing his eyes for a second, letting out a long breath. "Barry, just please eat your dinner."

Barry looked back down at it. He still didn't pick up the fork.

"One bite," Joe said, "just try." Barry could hear the exhaustion in Joe's voice, the irritation which was coming unhinged. He was trying to stay calm, to keep reasoning with him even though he was being unreasonable, but his patience had run thin and Barry was equally as frustrated and exhausted as Joe was.

"I don't want it," Barry said, his voice quiet, low.

"I know you don't," Joe said with forced calmness, "I need you to try anyway. Just _try_, Barry."

"I tried," Barry snapped, "didn't work."

"Barry –"

"I just don't want anything tonight," Barry said.

"You don't want anything any night," Joe said, "you still have to eat. I'm not watching you collapse again."

"I'm not going to collapse," Barry snapped, "it's one night – I'm fine. I screwed up – I get that, I'm just tired."

"Three meals. No exceptions, Barry."

Barry looked up at him, felt the frustration and irritation boil to a dangerous level, set his teeth, and then he was gone.

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Caitlin jumped as Barry appeared next to her, already mid-sentence.

"So you're going to get a call from Joe in about thirty seconds –"

Her phone started ringing.

Barry paused. "He's _fast_." She reached for the phone and Barry's eyes widened. "Don't pick up!"

"Hello?"

"Dammnit – Caitlin!"

_"__Hi, Caitlin, it's Joe – is Barry there? He just ran out during dinner."_

"No I didn't – I'm not here."

"Yeah, he's –"

"Cait-"

"- right here."

"Caitlin!"

"_OK, can you just try and get something in him – he ate half, fell asleep at the table, and then wouldn't have any more, and I'm about at the end of my rope with _–"

"I'm not a child! Don't talk about me like I'm your little kid and your shuffling me between parents," Barry burst out, the speaker loud enough that he heard Joe's side of the conversation. Caitlin covered the phone for a second.

"Barry, we're not trying to treat you like a child, we're just worried about you." Caitlin put the phone back to her ear. "Don't worry about it, Joe," she said, "I've got it."

"_Let me know if he tries to run out again," Joe said, "I'll call Iris._"

"I'm right here."

"I don't think it'll be a problem," Caitlin said. She hung up the phone and turned back to Barry, who was fuming. She tilted her head at him. "You gonna have a calorie bar now or do I have to put you in time out?" She said it with a smile but he just snorted and moved around her, away to a table and sat down, still fuming.

"I'm not hungry," he said angrily, staring at the table, "I'm not and I don't want it and I really just can't do it right now so could you please just leave it."

Caitlin went over to the table and sat down across from him, her expression gentle. "I can't leave it," she said, "because you have to eat – and if you don't work through the times when you get like this you'll never get better."

He let out a frustrated noise. "I'm not eating right now," he said, defiantly, refusing to meet her eyes.

"OK," she said gently, reaching across for his hand, "tell me what's going on – we'll work through it."

"I don't want to work through it," he mumbled.

"Barry," Caitlin said, "I can't help you if you don't talk to me."

Barry squirmed, stared at his lap. "I don't have a good excuse," he said tiredly, his voice very quiet, very small, "I just really don't feel like it. I don't want to, and I'm too tired to make myself. It's exhausting, and I don't have the energy, so I'm just not going to eat right now."

"If you eat," Caitlin said, "I guarantee that energy thing will get a lot better."

He shook his head. "That's not the same. I just don't want it. Aren't I allowed to just not want to sometimes?"

"Yes," Caitlin said, "but you aren't allowed to skip meals because of it."

He groaned, and leaned back, and he did look exhausted.

"I'm not eating," he said quietly.

"Barry –"

"I'm not eating anymore tonight, and if you threaten me with the tube again I'll run. I don't care. I'm not eating tonight."

"Barry, you know that's not good for you," Caitlin said, her voice just as low as his.

"I don't care."

"You're hurting yourself."

"I'll eat tomorrow."

"You need to eat more today, Barry."

"Stop," he said, covering his face with his hands, "stop it – or I'll leave, I'll just leave."

"Then why haven't you already?" she asked, sliding into the chair next to him, her fingers wrapping around his wrists and gently pulling them down, away from his eyes.

"You're upset," she said, looking straight at him, "and you're feeling overwhelmed. Take a deep breath. Tell me what's wrong."

"I'm not eating tonight," he said stubbornly after a pause. His voice was hard but his eyes were hesitant, fearful.

"Fine," she said, much to his surprise, "I can't make you. You're not eating. Now tell me what's _wrong_."

He paused, and his eyes dropped, his wrists still in her hands. "I just don't wanna."

"No," she said, "you said you weren't eating, so stop talking about eating. Tell me how you _feel_, Barry."

He squirmed under her gaze, started thinking maybe he shouldn't have been so adamant. It didn't matter what he did, it was coming back to bite him all the same.

"I'm just tired."

"That's not true."

"I… it's just so _hard_, Caitlin."

Caitlin sighed as he hung his head again, his expression dropping to pained, and he shuddered, tugged at his hands to try and hide his face again, but Caitlin wouldn't let him. "Yeah, I know, Bar. I know it's hard."

"I feel awful. I just feel awful all the time, but it just gets so much worse when I eat and I don't want to do it, I don't want to feel this way anymore." He was sniffing and blinking and his voice cracked and Caitlin let go of his hands to rub his back with one, run her hand over his arm with the other.

"Barry," she said gently, "it won't get better if you don't try."

"I know!" he said, putting his head down on the table between his arms, so it came out muffled, "I still don't want to do it."

"Well then think of it like when I have to set bones when you get hurt – it's painful, but afterwards it lets it get better."

Barry didn't say anything for a little bit. "It still hurts when you do it though."

"Yes," she said, "but if I don't then it would heal wrong and you'd end up having pain from it for the rest of your life."

Barry mumbled something she didn't hear before looking up. "I still don't want to do it," he muttered.

"It's uncomfortable for you," Caitlin said, nodding, "but you have to do it in order to get better."

Barry frowned, started tapping his fingers over the table, slouching to one side. Caitlin got up and came back with a calorie bar a minute afterwards.

"Joe said you ate half," she said, "so if you have one bar it'll cover what you missed."

Barry looked up at her without moving. "I thought you said you weren't making me eat."

"You were upset," she said, "you're OK now. You need to eat."

Barry didn't move, kept stubbornly tapping his fingers over the table.

"As your doctor," Caitlin said, her voice getting a little firmer, "just like I have to set bones even though it causes you more pain, I insist you eat something, even though it makes you uncomfortable."

Barry kept tapping his fingers for a second, and after a few moments under her gaze, which was growing increasingly hard, he swiped up the bar, and took a bite, a tiny bite, but a bite. He kept his eyes on the table.

"It doesn't make me uncomfortable," he mumbled, "it makes me feel awful."

"You don't need to feel awful," she said soothingly, relaxing in the chair now that he was eating, "you need to eat."

Barry took another bite, trying not to think about it, to block out everything before he gave himself a chance for the guilt to start.

"Can you just – just keep talking?" he said quickly, ducking his head as the bar turned to sawdust in his mouth. He closed his eyes. _Stop, stop, stop._

"Yeah," she said quickly, "what about? A story or –"

"Just," he said, "just tell me it's OK." The words came out rushed and sounded needy even to his own ears and he winced but glanced up to her for reassurance anyway, because his stomach was turning and _don't eat, don't eat, don't eat._ He couldn't think and his hands were clamming up again. _You ate again? You ate again? Fat, disgusting loser- guilty. Guilty, guilty, guilty – what have you done – look what you did, look what you –"_

"It's OK for you to eat," Caitlin supplied readily, "It's OK for you to eat, and you should eat and you're doing a really good job for me Barry even though you don't want to."

Barry let out a long breath, but he couldn't take another bite. Looking down made him want to throw up, he couldn't do it, he just couldn't.

"You're too thin," Caitlin said, taking his free hand, "and I'm telling you as your doctor that you _need _to, that you _have_ to eat to stay healthy." She watched as he worked it out in his head, his eyes dropping and kept going. "You need to eat the bar, and it's OK for you to eat the bar. You deserve food, and you haven't done anything to deserve to have to starve. If you eat, you'll be doing a _good_ thing – doing what you're supposed to – you're supposed to eat."

Barry nodded, and managed another bite, and Caitlin kept going, rambling on in a loop, repeating phrase after phrase for Barry to focus on instead of the thoughts in his head. When he finished it, a gross, slimy feeling slipped up around his stomach, and he hugged his arms in tight to his body, hating it, and feeling awful. He had calmed down enough that his head wasn't trying to kill him anymore with guilt, but the feeling of fullness brought on a distinctly uncomfortable gross feeling almost immediately.

"I don't feel good," he mumbled when he'd finished it. He felt cold all of a sudden, and he really wanted to go home, although he didn't want to face Joe when he got there. He had run out of there like a child, and it made his face burn, even if at the time all he had felt was irritation and dread. He had a sudden onset of sick shame and he put his head in his hands. "Why did you let me eat all that," he groaned.

"Because you need it," Caitlin said, her hand on his back again. "You need it and you deserve it – your head's just trying to tell you that you don't."

"I don't want it."

"I didn't say you wanted it," Caitlin said, "I said you _needed_ it."

Caitlin kept rubbing his back, and she took in a careful breath, and then said, slowly, "Barry, I'm going to make a suggestion, and I need you to keep an open mind –"

"No," he said.

"You didn't even –"

"Whatever it is I'm not going to like it, so no."

She frowned at him. "Just take a deep breath and listen for a second, OK?"

Barry frowned, but didn't say anything else.

"I want you to use the feeding –"

"No," he said, bolting up in a second. "No, no, absolutely not, I'm not doing that again so don't even say anything else, Caitlin, I mean it."

"Barry," she said, frowning.

"No," he said, his voice forceful, "I'm not. I am not using it again. I'm not having a conversation about it at all."

"Barry, it wouldn't be overnight like –"

"No," he said, but Caitlin just kept going, calmly waiting in between each outburst.

"It wouldn't be overnight. I just want you to do it for a half hour before –"

"No, Caitlin, no," he said, shaking his head, getting up now.

"Barry," Caitlin said, "you're not listening to me anymore. I can't force you to do anything, but I'd appreciate it if you'd listen to what I'm saying before outright refusing."

Barry shot her a glance, and then folded into the seat again, arms crossed in front of his chest, but it took on a defensive nature.

"Thank you," Caitlin said, letting out a breath. "As I was saying, I want you to do it for a half hour in the morning before going to work."

"But I have to eat breakf-"

"You could do it while you're eating breakfast if you wanted to."

"That's too much at once."

"Or you could do it after eating breakfast. Or before. Whichever you'd like."

"No," he said, shaking his head again, "that's still too much at once – I can't – I can't have sugar water and then have you guys expect me to eat breakfast right after, or even switched around, I can't – I can't do that."

"Well," she said, "You could do it at night instead. Right before you go to bed. I thought the morning might be easier, because then you wouldn't have to think about it all day, it just be done and over with, but it would actually be more beneficial at night –"

"Why?"

"Because you won't be burning off any of the nutrients – you'd actually give them time to be absorbed while you were sleeping – plus it'll be better for you, give your body the nutrients it needs to get better rest. I just thought it would be easier for you in the morning."

"I don't want to do it at night either," he said, "I'll – you're right, I'll think about it all day, and I'll have just had dinner, so it's not – it's still bad."

"You eat dinner around six or seven," Caitlin said, unimpressed, "You won't have just eaten dinner. You can't go to bed that early."

"It's still too close."

"I'll set it up at your house," Caitlin said, "so you don't have to be here to have it done – you can just relax at home."

"Cait, I don't want –"

"It's only for a half hour," Caitlin said, "Please, Barry, this is the compromise – you're not gaining weight fast enough and you're not recovering well either, and I'm worried."

Barry stopped, his mouth clenching shut. Caitlin was looking at him with an earnest expression now, and he could see it on her face, that concern, that worry. His mouth twisted. He knew he wasn't doing great since he collapsed at the precinct, but it hadn't seemed like a big deal. He was tired, and Caitlin had kept monitoring his pulse and blood pressure a lot, but she hadn't said anything, so he had assumed it was fine. It looked like he had been wrong.

"I thought a lot about this," Caitlin said, "I know you really don't like it, and I know it makes you really uncomfortable, so I thought this would be the best way."

Barry looked down now, clenched his hands. He felt guilty again for lying, for not eating, for making Caitlin and everyone else worry about him.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I know you're sorry," she said, not missing a beat at the somewhat random statement, "It's OK, Barry. I think in about a week I can take you off of it again, maybe two – but no more than that, Barry. As long as you keep eating it would be two max. But… if you really think you can't handle that then I need… I really need you to come in either tomorrow or the day after so I can hook you up to an IV for the day. I know – I know you really don't want that, Barry, but you're not getting the nutrients you need – not fast enough and –"

"I can't do that," Barry said too fast, "I can't stay a whole day – not, not if you want me to eat too, not – no, actually, I can't do that at all – I couldn't, I could never stay that long, I can't."

Caitlin took in a long breath. "Then I'd need to run some more tests," she said quietly, "because you have me very worried that if you don't gain some weight fast, your cells will stop healing you – and right now, if they do that, you will die."

Barry stared at her, eyes wide.

"I…" he said.

She nodded.

"I didn't know it was that bad," he said weakly. "I weigh 156."

"Even slightly underweight, a lot of physical strain can trigger a heart attack," she said, "and with the rate you run – how hard your body works – you could potentially go into spontaneous complete and total organ failure, if your cells weren't regenerating the way they do. It's why I told you that you couldn't run for two days after you collapsed. I thought it would be better by now, but it's not."

Barry didn't look up and for a long few moments it was silent. Caitlin just looked across at him, and Barry fiddled with his hands, and finally he sighed, his shoulders drooping.

"Do I need the tube?"

His voice came out so weak Caitlin just wanted to reach out and hug him but instead she just put a hand on his knee.

"It would be best."

Barry kept fiddling with his hands, not looking up, but his shoulders drooped farther. "You'll set it up at home?"

"Yeah."

"I can have it in my room?"

"If you want it there. Living room, kitchen, whatever you want."

Barry's head dropped lower, his face downcast and completely sapped of energy.

"Will you come over and sit with me? Even though it's at the house and not the lab?" His voice was quiet, staring at his hands, turning them over and over again.

"Yeah, of course," she said, "if you want me to."

He nodded, and then didn't say anything else. Caitlin waited, but he didn't move, kept fiddling with his hands until he started fidgeting, and then the silence grew to an uncomfortable length, Caitlin just looking at him expectantly but patient, waiting, until he finally lifted his head a little.

"I don't want the tube."

"I know, Bar," she said, "I'll do it really quick."

"Can I come back tomorrow for it?"

"It's probably better to just get it over with," Caitlin said.

"I don't… wait, I don't have to do it tonight do I?" he asked, suddenly looking up, his face pleading, "I don't have to start tonight with the sugar water, do I? Please, can't I wait 'till tomorrow?"

She took in a long breath. "You can wait until tomorrow," she said, "if you promise to let Joe give you a ride to work tomorrow, and if you let me drive you home."

Barry relaxed again, the tension leaking out of his shoulders. "OK," he said.

**More soon, this was more of a part 1 then a whole chapter - review please, will have more soon, thank you!**


	13. Chapter 13

**So I think it might be like a year since I last posted. That being said, I logged on for the first time in a long time and was kind of overwhelmed by all the comments I've gotten on my various stories since then. So thanks guys :) Anyway, I went back through my files, and realized that I had already written this and just never uploaded it. It's a little bit short, but I figured I'd post it since it was done anyway, and I'm working on the next chapter. No promises, but I hope to get it out within a week or so. Anyway, here you go :)**

Caitlin wound up giving in on the tube until the next night, and so Barry was sitting up in his room with Iris when Caitlin arrived. They had to help her get all the stuff inside, and then bring it up to Barry's room. She got it all set up, and then it was a matter of getting the tube in again.

"Can't I just use the IV?" he asked one last time.

"No, this will be easier and safer. Just relax."

She had him lie down this time, on his back, which he did not like at all. Iris took his hand and he squeezed down.

"Don't watch," Iris said as Barry craned his neck downwards to see. He let out a huff of breath and stared at the ceiling. He was twitchy and all tensed up.

"I don't like this," he mumbled.

"We know," Iris said, but she pressed her other hand onto his arm, comforting.

It was quick and painful, and Barry jerked on the bed, wincing and gripping hard on Iris's hand before Caitlin was finished.

"Can't I start tomorrow?" he asked as soon as it was done. "I feel sick – that hurt, it still hurts, can't we just wait until tomorrow, please."

"This won't make it hurt any more, Barry," Caitlin said.

"I'm having a bad day," he tried.

"That's not even true," Iris said, "you just don't want the nutrients. Relax, take a deep breath."

"Please not tonight," Barry said. He felt absolutely drained and he did not want that stuff in him.

"Take a deep breath, Barry," Caitlin said. She hooked up the IV.

"I hate this," he huffed.

"Ahuh," Iris said.

He clenched his teeth tight when the liquid started going down the tube. He swore he could feel it, and it made him squirm. He was going from irritated to extremely uncomfortable very quickly.

"Just relax," Iris said, and she gave his hand a squeeze.

Barry watched the liquid go down the tube, and his stomach churned.

LLLLLLIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Barry was late coming home the next day. No one knew where he was. It wasn't really that late, only around midnight, but Barry didn't normally just stay out like that, and just as Joe was starting to worry, there was a whoosh of air, and papers went flying.

Joe sighed, called Caitlin back, and then started up the stairs.

He opened the door to find Barry pulling on a T-shirt, already getting into bed. At the sound of the door he froze, and turned.

Joe crossed his arms in front of him.

Barry huffed and rolled his eyes. "I'm not sixteen," he said, "don't give me that look. I don't have a curfew."

"No," Joe said, "but it would be nice if you answered your phone."

Barry's cheeks got red, and he ducked his head, ignoring the comment. There were at least six calls from Caitlin on there, and a couple from Joe, one from Iris, and one from Cisco.

"Caitlin was here waiting for you," Joe said.

Barry felt a twinge of guilt and grimaced, but continued taking off his shoes and socks, not looking up.

"You need to do the IV before you go to bed."

Barry cringed. "It's late," he said.

"I know."

"I'm tired."

"You're not supposed to be running."

Barry cringed again. He was already feeling a little dizzy, and it had only been a few blocks.

"Did you –"

"I had dinner with Iris," he said, irritated and rushed.

Joe paused. "I was going to say, did you want to wait for Caitlin?"

Barry looked up. "She's coming?"

"I just called her."

"But it's – it's late, isn't she aslee-"

"She was waiting for you."

"Oh."

"You owe her an apology." And Joe walked out.

And Barry felt like a chastised teenager again, and then realized he should, because of course Caitlin would wait for him, she would make sure he did the IV and she would make sure to be there for him because he had _asked_ her to and this was Caitlin, of course she would wait up for him, it was only the second day, and the first hadn't exactly gone well. He started to fidget, looking at the pole and the IV lines set up there, and he pulled at the hem of his shirt, and he did not want to do this – he wanted to go to sleep.

And he sighed because it was his own fault, this whole thing. He shouldn't have gone out and wandered around so late. He shouldn't have procrastinated and hoped to avoid it, he shouldn't have ignored his calls, he shouldn't have run, he shouldn't have eaten so little in the first place. He was being childish, hoping that if he came in late they'd just give up on it until the next day, and they hadn't, and he should have known they wouldn't, and now he was stuck in his room at almost one in the morning and he was exhausted and a little dizzy and too scared and too guilty to go downstairs and get himself something to eat.

Caitlin was there about twenty minutes after Barry got home. She came upstairs and walked in and Barry was sitting on the bed and he blurted out, "Sorry."

She sighed, and moved past him, went and got the stuff and pulled it over. He watched her and cringed. She pulled it over and he squirmed away.

"Barry," she said.

"Wait," he said, cringing, hands up, "can we just… can we just talk? Please? Just for a little bit?"

Caitlin tilted her head, eyes hard. "We can talk while you have the IV line in."

But Barry jerked away when Caitlin tried to touch him and he realized belatedly that he was sweating.

"Wait, really – Cait, I'm sorry."

Caitlin sighed again. "Barry, this isn't about anything you did – you just really do need to have this in and –"

"I need to talk first," he blurted out, too fast, too panicked.

Caitlin paused, and her expression softened a little, concerned. "What's going on?" she asked.

"I – I just…" He didn't know what to say, what to do, he just didn't want that thing in him.

Caitlin's expression changed again. She took his shoulder in one hand, drawing him closer to her. "You need to have this in, Barry," she said, "I know you don't like it – we can talk while you have it i-"

"No," Barry said, grabbing her wrist when she reached for him, and he looked down and he was shaking. A wash of dizziness swept over him and he let go of her, shuddering.

_I can't do this, _he thought, and suddenly it was all he could think, _I can't do this, I can't do this._ He wanted to throw up. He felt sick, nauseous suddenly, and he went pale. He couldn't do this, he couldn't – couldn't let her fill him up, couldn't eat anymore. He felt horrible for the dinner he'd had already, and now more? No, no he couldn't. He pushed away from Caitlin, into the corner of the bed.

_What am I doing? _he thought, and he was staring at his hands, which were trembling. He was suddenly terrified of the IV line, and he didn't know why, didn't know why it was suddenly such a completely and utterly intolerable thought, but it was. He just _couldn't_ do that.

"Barry," Caitlin said, and her hand was on his arm and he turned away, hiding his face.

_What's the matter with me?_ He couldn't get a grip, couldn't get a handle on the thoughts, couldn't think straight at all.

"Barry," Caitlin said again, a little firmer this time, "Barry, it's alright."

He shook his head. It wasn't. He wanted to run out of the room, but Caitlin had his arm and he couldn't think, couldn't move.

"Barry, talk to me."

He shook his head. He couldn't talk. He didn't want to talk. He was frozen.

"It's OK," Caitlin said, "I'm right here. Talk to me."

"I can't do this."

"Of course you can. Just relax."

"No, Cait, I can't, I'm sorry, I'm not – I really can't tonight."

"Barry," she said slowly, "you have to do this. I know you don't want to, but you have to and you can. Take a deep breath."

So Barry took a deep breath but he couldn't think. "I'm dizzy," he mumbled.

Her eyes shot wide. "What do you mean you're dizzy?"

"I'm dizzy and I can't think," he said. "I don't want the IV and I can't think straight about it and I can't do this right now when I can't think straight and can't get a grip on it and I really don't want it but I know I need it but I can't right now." He was babbling and he knew it, but he didn't know what to do, didn't know how to make her understand. His head was spinning.

"Do you think you could eat a calorie bar for me?" Caitlin asked gently.

"I – I don't know," he said. Everything was still spinning, kept spinning while Caitlin dug one out and pressed a piece into his hand.

"Take a bite."

And Barry did. He took a bite. When she pressed another piece against his fingers he shook his head.

"Just eat until your head clears," Caitlin said, "just until you're ready to do the IV. You don't have to finish it."

"I don't –"

"Barry," Caitlin said, a strain to her voice, "please, please just trust me, OK? Just stop thinking for five minutes and do as I say and trust me."

And Barry did.

He ate the bar, just nibbling at the pieces, until his head wasn't spinning anymore and he could think straight enough to calm down, and then he let her put the IV in and let her talk him down while it was going on. And then it was finally done, and she was taking it out and he let out a long breath.

"I'm sorry," he said as she packed up the stuff.

"It's OK," she said.

"No, I'm sorry I stayed out late. I didn't think."

She let out a laugh, but she was smiling. "You never do."

He gave a hesitant smile back. "I'm sorry you're always running after me."

She shook her head. "Don't worry about me. You worry about you and getting better."

He nodded as she started to leave. "Caitlin," he said.

She turned. "Yeah?"

"Thanks."

She smiled, and left.


End file.
